


Versus the World!

by Volrosso



Category: All Time Low, Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010)
Genre: A fuck ton of crackships, Crossover, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 73,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volrosso/pseuds/Volrosso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Stump's life is so awesome. He's 22 years old, in a rock band that is totally awesome in every way, dating a cute high school boy, and still trying to find a proper job. Everything's fantastic until a seriously awe-inspiring, eye-liner encrusted, rollerblading delivery boy named Pete Wentz starts showing up everywhere. But Pete comes with a lot of baggage. I.E: Seven evil exes. This will probably end in tears if it hasn't already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Precious Little World

**Author's Note:**

> If you had not already guessed this is a Scott Pilgrim Bandom fic. And there is so much crackshipping it should be illegal and I apologize for it. Grossly OOC probably. But most fanfictions are, no? 
> 
> I just really wanted to write Peterick okay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So there's this boy...

"Patrick Stump is dating a highschooler!" **[Alexander William Gaskarth. Kind of good at singing, kind of good at guitar. 22 years old. Rating: Needs to shut up.]**

There was a round of somewhat crazed snickering, not unusual of Patrick Stump's friends. They were collected around the round kitchen table in the house of Alex Gaskarth presently, and all of them were bent over mugs of hot chocolate and coffee like the sugar deprived demons they were, shivering in their heavy black hoodies. Maybe if Alex turned his heat on every once in a blue moon, they wouldn't be having this issue. Maybe it was a British thing. Or maybe Alex had decided long ago that the best sort of fun was sitting at your kitchen table with your band and roommate, snickering about Patrick Stump while wearing at least three layers of clothes. They should be ashamed, teasing their poor friend like that. Then again, Patrick was used to this by now. 

Patrick was standing at the kitchen counter with a kettle and a porcelain _Disney World_ mug with a half broken handle. As he was pouring himself some hot chocolate, he ground his teeth against their irritating commentary, refusing to stoop to their level. When they were done,Patrick let the silence linger between them all like a ghost before pouring some milk in, watching the cloud of white swirl and change shape in the brown liquid. He was transfixed momentarily, snapped back into focus when Alex cleared his throat pointedly. Frank was still snickering, but he was Frank. What could you do? "Yes? What of it."

"Doesn't that make you a pedophile or something?" **[Bob Bryar. Plays the drums. 22 years old. Rating: Ginger.]**

"I'm not that old!" Patrick grumbled indignantly, blowing at the steam radiating off his hot chocolate as he joined the other three at the table. He sat in the chair wedged between a mildly amused Alex and a bored looking Bob, across from Frank who was staring at him, wide-eyed and bewildered. "His name's Gerard and he's 17 and he's really nice and I ride the bus home with him sometimes."

"He's still in high school and you're not," Alex pointed out, chipped mug in hand, high tops up on the table. He never took them off, as much as Patrick begged him to because it was always like, minus four-billion outside every day with about three feet of snow. Plus his shoes were all ratty now anyways, the red faded and the white smudged and dirty. Not unlike the rest of Alex. White, smudged and dirty. "Like, what can you even do with a high schooler?"

Bob was stuffing his face with buttered toast that Alex had made earlier, getting crumbs in his somewhat-beard. Patrick didn't fully understand the allure of cold buttered toast, but Bob seemed to enjoy it. "Hold hands, Eskimo kisses. Feed ducks at the park and shit. You know, adorable stuff." He counted each one off on his fingers, his voice heavily sarcastic and dreamy. Alex tossed a mini marshmellow at Bob's head, grumbling something about talking with his mouth full. Bob continued anyways. "Where do you even meet a fucking highschooler. How does that happen?"

"Bob did you really have to ask- no. NO FUCKING FLASHBACKS-"

"Too late. So I was..."

_Walking the snowy streets coming back from visiting Joe. It was the middle of January, (as it still was, this took place a fucking week ago) when it was cold as fuck. Patrick was fighting a losing battle with the cold that seeped through cracks in his red wool scarf that was already pulled to straining. The crisp January air was also creeping under the faux-fur flaps of his winter hat, turning his ears a rather fetching shade of scarlet. It was so fucking cold! Patrick kept his head down while he waltzed down the sidewalk, matching mittened hands deep in his coat pockets. Nobody else seemed suicidal enough to venture out-of-doors on a day like today, so the streets were quiet at least, save for a few pedestrians milling about and the occasional passing car. Patrick's feet were cold, but not totally wet yet. Hopefully he'd make it home before the slush started soaking through his boots. There certainly was a lot of it on the sidewalk, splashed there by cars whizzing by._

_Of course, something had to happen that Patrick wasn't prepared for. He couldn't ever just walk home in peace one day. The universe just loved to throw Patrick into situations he had no idea what to do with. Like last month when Alex got a new stove and Patrick had almost burned the house down trying to operate it. There was still a black mark on the wood floor from the attempt. And also when Andy pretended to have a girlfriend for like, a week, and Patrick had to be really nice to her all the time and that whole situation was just very uncomfortable for like, everyone. This time was not like those times._

_Across the road was a scuffle. The perpetrators? A group of teenaged boys. Teenaged boys who didn't really look like they were fucking around- typical teenagers weeding out the glitch in their system- in this case a shortish kid with black hair that was a bit too long to be masculine. His coat was worn and green with brownish fur on the hood, and they had pulled off his hat- it was lying in the snow on the side of the road, revealing the boy's too-long mane of black hair. The delinquents had moved on to him now, stuffing snow down his coat and using some rather un-imaginitive names._

_Patrick had considered doing something, but Patrick was a pacifist, and they weren't beating the shit out of the kid. He decided to step in if anything got too serious, but he told himself that allowing the kid to learn to defend himself would be better than getting involved._

_The kid was not doing a very good job at all._

_One of the wretched teenagers wrenched the kid's bookbag away and dumped everything out into the snow, scuffling it around a bit before deciding they'd had their fill and leaving. Then, and only then, did Patrick decide it was worth going over for._

_The kid was shivering when Patrick approached, fingers coated in torn gloves trembling too hard to pick up anything. He looked more miffed than traumatized though, shoving markers and pencils and wet papers back into his bag. Patrick started helping him pick them up. The boy looked up, face red from embarrassment and cold, and he smiled a bit and Patrick smiled too and_

_  
_"That's it?" Bob laughed and Patrick turned red, sipping his hot chocolate. He was almost done it, and was getting tired of their torment, contemplating just leaving. He tugged at his hat, embarrassed as Bob and Frank and Alex laughed away. Eventually he just finished off his hot chocolate, got up, and walked to the door. "Well at least I have someone, right? I won't let you guys get me down." Patrick slipped on his coat and boots as Alex and Bob composed themselves.

"OKAY. OKAY. TELL GERARD I SAY HI," Bob practically screamed, which was more emotion than he'd shown all day. And despite that not being funny, the three of them were howling again, doubled over the table, laughing until tears were streaming. Patrick grumbled, shutting their laughter out with the door behind him as he stepped into the cold winter night.    

 

 

"So what's his name." No sooner had Patrick walked in the door of their hobbit-hole of an apartment, Andy was on his case. **[Andrew John Hurley. Roommate. 25 years old. Rating: 6.78963/10 on a good day.]**

"HOW." Patrick threw down his hat and lifted his hands to the sky in infinite befuddlement. Sure, news travelled fast in their group, but _this_ was absolutely ridiculous.  

"Joe," Andy said simply, licking a finger and turning the page in his magazine. He was sitting in his blue easy chair, one leg crossed over the other, paying Patrick no mind whatsoever. Nonchalant as you like with his stupid too-long hair and his glasses that made him significantly less intimidating. "Joe heard it from Bob. I told everyone else. So, is he cute?"

This was payback. This was payback for Patrick coming home late, he knew it. Andy hated it when he was home late because of their sleeping arrangement- their sleeping arrangement being: they were too fucking poor to afford two beds, so sharing one, (provided by Andy in the first place) between the two of them would have to do.

Their postage stamp apartment itself was little more than a small wooden box inside a hill, with a kitchen and a bathroom and a room for all the stuff Andy had provided them with. A bookshelf, a dinosaur of a T.V complete with a DVD player _and_ VCR. The ugly green rug over the wooden floor, the low table with the computer on it. And then the bed. Ah, the bed. 

Their arrangement worked well in the winter and late fall because of the lack of heat, but in the summer it was hellish in the room. It also didn't work well because sometimes Andy would bring someone home and Patrick would NOT want to be in that situation, so he'd have to go crash with Bob or Alex or someone. Andy only let Patrick sleep with him because he was like a space heater. Some nights in the summer, Patrick was on the floor.

Partially distraught by the news getting out, Patrick went to change into his PJs. He was going to get hell for this from about every single person he knew, dammit. "His name is Gerard. And yes, he _is_ cute." He tried to ignore it when Andy immediately whipped out his phone, thumbs moving at the speed of light to get the newly revealed information out to like, the entire universe. "He's 17." Andy nodded, still not looking up as Patrick got into bed, rolling onto his side and facing the wall grumpily.

"Oh Patrick," Andy sighed fondly, smiling a bit. "Patrick, you are mine forever."   

 

 

And then it was the next day or something. Patrick stood on Alex Gaskarth's rickety snow covered porch with his high-school boyfriend clutching his hand in a death grip. Ow. Patrick swore he could feel the heat Gerard was currently radiating through both their mittens. The poor kid was so nervous he looked like he wanted to vaporize on the spot, so Patrick just ruffled his already-messy black hair, and smiled. "Just behave yourself and we won't have a problem."

"Of course I'll-"

"I'm serious. Behave." Gerard gave Patrick a worried look at his serious tone, then nodded frantically, letting go of Patrick's hand and jamming his own hands deep into the recesses of his ratty green coat.

Alex opened the door a moment later, sizing the both of them up for about a minute before things got kind of awkward. Patrick coughed pointedly and Gerard jumped, thrusting his hand forward. "M-My name is Gerard Way! Pleased to m-m-meet you!"

"I'm Alex-"

Patrick pushed them both gently inside before proper introductions could be made. "Yes, that's Alex Gaskarth, Gerard, he's the singer."

To which Alex grumbled "It's my fucking band, actually."

Gerard seemed utterly transfixed with Alex's eyebrows, which was usually a pretty general reaction. Patrick had to drag Gerard away from Alex's amazing facial hair and practically shove him into the next room. The practice room, which consisted of nothing but speakers and a couch, along with Bob's drum set and two guitars lying on the floor. Bob was already sitting behind the drums, looking bored. He perked up a bit when Gerard came in, curiously.   

There was another boy in the room, who Patrick introduced as Frank Iero. He seemed rather out of place among Bob's scary staring and Patrick's silly trucker hats and Alex's ridiculous hair dye. He was perched on the other side of the couch, chewing on his black painted nails. He looked up at Gerard through his fringe when the other sat down uncomfortably. 

Gerard nodded, still swaddled in his jacket, brought his knees to his chest, watching as Patrick milled about, getting his guitar ready for practice. He looked at Bob then, who gave him a dull look, which was still pretty scary. Bob looked downright menacing half the time, and bored the other half, there was no in-between. Disgruntled, Gerard forced up a smile and refocused on Frank. "What do you do?"

"I just live here," Frank said, and he went quiet, leaving Gerard to awkwardly examine the floor again. What a _weirdo_.

On the other side of the room, the band had composed themselves more or less, Bob poised and ready and Patrick somewhat in-position. Alex straightened his shirt and picked up his guitar. "On Bob's mark."

"WE ARE ARMA ANGELUS. ONE. TWO. _ONE, TWO, THREE, **FOUR!**_ " Boom.

The music started with a bang. And it was kind of like sex (even though the music wasn't even that good). Or at least, that's what Gerard thought of it, (even though he'd never actually had sex) his mouth opening a little bit as he moved to the edge of his seat, olive eyes going wide.

Bob was totally shredding it, which may or may not have been a good thing. Frank seemed a bit unimpressed, (he was most of the time) but it sounded perfect to Gerard. Bob was going a bit too fast for Alex to keep up properly, but between his almost-screeching and Patrick's wailing guitar, it didn't even matter.

It was perfect.

 

 

"You guys. Are so. Fucking. _Perfect_."

Patrick smiled, looking up at the sky, not really sure what he expected to see up there but black and white and a handful of stars. Gerard had literally not shut up about their practice since they left Alex's house, and that felt kind of good. The two of them were only walking down the street, but even that was proving difficult. Gerard was totally awestruck, wandering all over, and Patrick had to keep him from wandering out onto the road. The entire walk to the bus stop he gushed about the music and how awesome it had been and how awesome Patrick had been.

Bob totally made fun of Patrick later for it because he was Bob and that's what Bob did. Only because Gerard gave Patrick a hug at the bus stop and Patrick walked back to Alex's house, promising to meet Gerard after school the next day. When Patrick got back, shivering, they all went upstairs to chill in Alex's room while Frank studied a magazine intently on the floor. It was mostly silent for now, with Parick, Alex and Bob lounging on the bed and talking about whatever. Patrick had his head in Bob's lap and was looking up at the ceiling, Alex was picking at the laces of his shoes.

Of course Alex had to change their topic of college education and the affairs of Joseph Trohman to Patrick again. "Are you serious about that kid? I mean he's _nice_ , I guess but like..."

Bob raised an eyebrow at that. "Are you accusing _Patrick Stump_ of being someone who uses high school boys to get what he wants?"

Patrick sat up, flustered, and smacked Bob's leg, (despite it being half a compliment) nudging Alex hard with his foot. "You guys are the worst! I'm not like that!"

"We know," Frank muttered from his place on the floor, and everyone stared at him for a moment before Bob responded.

"It just seems a little... Desperate? Or something? I don't fucking know. Why are you doing this, Patrick?"

And Patrick hesitated because he wasn't sure. He found that he could not actually answer Bob. He opened his mouth to do so, but found he had nothing to say. His mind was blank, he couldn't tell them why he was 'dating' a high schooler- especially someone like Gerard (straight A's, cute face, Catholic school). Look how the last boyfriend had gone- actually no. Better not think about that, it was the stuff of war flashbacks and sudden loss of breath and sanity. Alex would complain again and then Patrick would have to stay up all night while Andy patted him on the back while he consumed copious amounts of ice cream. 

"Patrick?" Alex pressed. Everyone was staring at him like he had the answer to the ultimate question of the known universe. 

"Sometimes life works in mysterious ways," was Patrick's only answer.

"Bullshit," Bob laughed. 

 

 

"So what happened," Andy sat him down at the table and Patrick stared down at his sandwich. Andy had actually brought Patrick to the sub shop so he'd keep his voice down if he got overemotional about something. But he was nice so Patrick got a sandwich out of it too.  

"Joe called me," Patrick said, irritated, and Andy gave him an innocent look, which Patrick promptly ignored. He told the rest of his story. 

He'd gotten home from Alex's last night after insisting that Bob walk him home so he didn't get mugged or raped or used for a lawn ornament or something. Slept in. Then Joe called at like, the crack of stupid saying it was twelve in the fucking afternoon, and why the _fuck_ hadn't Patrick told him about his high school boyfriend. Andy remembered being screamed at mercilessly for telling Joe about Patrick's high school boyfriend (even if he already knew? He was making no sense).

"You weren't supposed to tell anyone, ESPECIALLY not Joe," Patrick muttered, and Andy just shrugged and motioned for Patrick to continue his tale. 

His date with Gerard had mainly consisted of picking the younger up after school and meandering about the town, gossiping about who liked who and who did what until Patrick felt like he was in high school himself again. That wasn't really a good thing. They ran into Andy at that point, (Andy knew this part of the story) who proceeded to make Patrick look like a bit of an idiot and made Gerard giggle like a little girl. Gerard hung off Patrick's arm the entire time, and it was kind of nice just to hang out, but Patrick kept thinking about Bob's question last night, the one he hadn't been able to answer.

And then there was the dream, and when he brought it up, Andy leaned forward curiously.

"There was this boy, right?"

"A boy." Andy raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. "You mean a boy that wasn't your high school boyfriend? Fantastic, Patrick."

"Hear me out!" Patrick was waving his arms to quell Andy's laughter, attracting a lot of attention from the other patrons. "SO I WAS LIKE. Just standing in a big white room, right? Like, there was nothing there. And I was just sitting there feeling sorry for myself like wow, I have nobody. Nobody loves me."

"I love you."

"-and suddenly this door opened, right? And like... This guy came in and he shut the door and it disappeared-" Patrick blinked, focusing to remember the boy. He'd come in rollerblading, which was weird on its own. Straight black hair, more eyeliner than Patrick had seen since the last time Ryan Ross broke up with someone. The boy looked focused, had on a plain black hoodie and shorts that didn't fit the season at all. And he carried a bag with him. And as Patrick watched him skate away, when he asked the boy "Who are you?" the response was

"Fuck you."

Andy blinked at Patrick. "....And then what?"

"He disappeared again? Through the door I think and then it closed and I was alone again." Patrick shrugged. The memory of last night's dream had stuck in his head, and it unsettled him every time he had to bring it up. He tried to combat it by thinking of Gerard, but every time he did, the face of the boy would get stuck all over again and he'd get flustered. He was already blushing, Andy could tell.

Uh oh.

 

 

Good friends let you lie in bed all day when you're having an existenal crisis. _Best_ friends will literally put you in a coat and drag you out of the house by force if they need to. So Patrick knew his fate was sealed as soon as Alex arrived at the door looking determined and Andy let him in. Now they were outside, it was dark, and Patrick had no idea where they're going. 

"Oh shit, Alex Gaskarth, we gotta go back, he forgot his stupid hat." The way Bob never had any emotion in his voice whatsoever never ceased to amaze Patrick, who kicked him in the shin. It did approximately nothing to Bob because _nothing_ ever fazed Bob. 

"Where the heck are we going anyways?" Patrick grumbled, deciding not to ask if they _could_ go back to get his hat because his ears were cold. 

"Ryan's party," Frank supplied, to which Alex added "Like I told you. Fifty fucking times." 

Well fuck. Patrick groaned as loud as he could, shuffling along in Bob's wake and accepting his fate. There was no escaping a party at Ryan Ross' house. Nobody got out alive.

And of course once they were there, Patrick found himself utterly and completely bored. There were a lot of people there, way too many for a house party, (but then again, all of Ryan's parties were like that) and Bob and Alex went off to hang with cooler people while Frank stuck to Patrick like a burr, quiet and creepily wide-eyed as usual. The two stood awkwardly for what seemed like a lifetime before Patrick decided to attempt communication. 

"Are you going to talk to me or...?"

Frank blinked at him then nodded. "You're wearing two shirts," he said, and then smiled sweetly, walking away.

"IS THERE AN ISSUE WITH THAT?" Patrick called after him, and everyone started staring. So he did the logical thing and found himself a drink that he wasn't going to drink anyways, and sat down waiting for something to happen- where he found his mind wandering back to Dream Boy, god _damn it_. He _had_ to get to the bottom of this.

He spotted his chance. "Walker! Waaaaalker!" He had to shove through the crowd to get there, apologizing furiously to people as he shoved past them. But he did reach Jon on time. 

"Oh, hey Patrick." Jon Walker grinned. "Having fun?" 

"I thought Ryan and Alex weren't friends anymore, dude. Anyways, anyways, okay. I know you know everyone, don't pretend you don't know everyone."

Jon gave Patrick a weird look, raising an eyebrow. "Okay. I know everyone..?"

"Do you know a boy with hair like this?" He covered one eye with his hand. Jon thought about that for a second.

"Well you either mean Ryan or Pete." 

"Who's Pete."

"Pete Wentz, dude. Ryan said he was supposed to be he-"

"HE'S HERE?! OhmygodthankyouJonbutIhavetogo." Patrick clapped him on the shoulder and threw himself back into the crowd. It certainly was chaos, and Patrick wished Ryan didn't know so many people, because half the city must be here. The music was also loud and kind of bad, and wading through crowds of sweaty, half-drunk people was not Patrick Stump's ideal night of fun.

But Patrick was on a mission, and he would not give up. He'd mistaken at least four people for his objective, but none of them were _quite_ emo enough. 

Patrick finally found Pete standing there by himself against the back wall, looking incredibly bored and also incredibly emo, and his heart almost stopped for a few seconds. Or maybe it had stopped and he hadn't noticed, Patrick didn't care.

Pete looked as he had in Patrick's dream, which made sense because people couldn't just change their faces. Except now he had no messenger bag and his hoodie was purple and white striped. Currently, he was focused on the floor, hood up, and it was Patrick's mission to change that. Well, once he remembered how to breathe. 

He went and stood next to Pete on the wall, leaning back against it and trying to look cool. The other boy hardly looked over, slanting his eyes around his hood towards Patrick and frowning a bit before looking back at the floor. 

Patrick took a deep breath. "Hi." 

Pete looked at him again, raising an eyebrow. "Hi."

"Why are you wearing makeup?" Shit. Shit _shit **shit.**_ "I _mean_... I mean it looks good..."

Pete was still staring, looking increasingly more confused. "...Thanks?"

"Have I met you before or am I dreaming?" 

"...Um."

"Sorry, I'll leave you alone forever now." 

"Thanks."

Patrick left then, but it wasn't with the intention of leaving Pete Wentz alone forever. He casually followed him, (no, not _stalking_ , casually _following_ ) the rest of the time he was there, until Frank found him and tried to talk to him. Patrick grabbed the younger boy, picked him up and swinging him around, nearly hitting about six other people and creeping Frank the fuck out. "I'M NOT DREAMING." 

"Am I dreaming?"

"NO FRANK, YOU'RE NOT. HE _EXISTS_."

"..Who?" Patrick dropped Frank, who nearly fell over, and ran off to find Jon. At this point, the capacity of party-goers had reduced significantly, and there was room to breathe once more. Jon was sitting at the top of the stairs with Dallon Weekes, who looked kind of out of it. Patrick sat down with them and Jon smirked. 

"You want to know more about Pete Wentz?"

"Everything."

"Well let's see. He's not from around here, for one. Delivery boy. Came here a month ago from uh... wherever."

"Ryan introduced him to me, he was like... really _nice_." Dallon nodded. "But his name makes me mad. Pete _Wentz_. Where is he even _going?_  Where did he even _come_ from?"

Jon stared at Dallon for a moment before patting him on the head sympathetically, looking mildly concerned. "Hey Patrick why don't you go talk to Ry-... and he's gone."

"Where did he go, Jon. Where did he _go_."

 

 

 

"RYAN TELL ME ABOUT P-"

Ryan Ross held up a hand to silence Patrick, nearly smacking him in the face. "If the next words that come out of your mouth are Pete Wentz, go rethink your life."

A moment of silence, in which Alex started laughing at the look on Patrick's face and Ryan nearly crushed his cup, the remnants of his drink spilling over his hand. "Didn't he break up with his boyfr-"

"Alex Gaskarth. Shut up."

Patrick blinked. "...So he's not like... Straight?"

Ryan groaned, shooting Alex a dirty look. "Look- Patrick. There's a guy involved, okay? Aren't you dating a high schooler anyways? Just forget about it!"

Patrick decided not to forget about it.

 

 

It must've been the crack of stupid when the lights came back on and the door flew open, letting in a steady stream of ice-cold air. Fuck. "GUESS WHO'S DRUNK."

Patrick groaned and rolled over in bed, pulling the covers over his head and shivering. "I guess not Andy."

"Let's pretend I am though since it'll probably motivate me to listen to your shitty boy problems." Andy came in and sat down on the bed, leaning back and sprawling over Patrick, sighing. "Okay, shoot."

"So when Alex dragged me to the party there was this boy-"

Andy smacked his forehead grumbling. Patrick shot him a look and continued. "This boy, right? I keep seeing him in my dreams on his stupid amazing rollerblades-"

"Creepy." 

"-And I saw him at the library with Gerard and he was at this party and he's like wow, fantastic." Patrick sighed miserably and put his pillow over his face. "And he wears more eyeliner than Ryan Ross."

"Ridiculous amounts of eyeliner aside, go to sleep. You have a date with your cute little high school boyfriend tomorrow."

"I hate you." 

 

 

After yesterday, even being in the same room as Gerard was incredibly awkward, which proved to be a bit of an issue when he showed up again for band practice. On Alex's invitation. Ryan probably put him up to this.

The day had gone kind of smoothly yesterday, nothing crazy had happened at least. It was the usual, Gerard had dragged Patrick around town most of the day. He sounded excited and chipper, and was even more huggy than usual, gushing about who liked who and band practice and why some people should not be together. Patrick tried to remain as enthusiastic as he could with his head-nods and his 'mhm's and Gerard didn't seem to mind.

They spent the whole day like this, so Patrick figured he'd done a pretty good job at hiding that all he'd been thinking about was a delivery boy he'd met once in real life all day, and he thought he was fine.

That was until Gerard kissed him. There was just this moment of pure and utter shock, and Patrick pulled away and Gerard was staring at his boots, all red in the face. To which, the only logical answer would be

"... _Holy smokes_."

And then Gerard said bye in the quietest voice ever and got on the bus and Patrick walked home in a daze because he hadn't actually kissed anyone since Bob got drunk that one night and- okay, let's not bring that up. 

But now there he was. Again. Grinning like an idiot, the poor dear, sitting beside a disgruntled looking Frank on Alex Gaskarth's worn out couch. Soon Patrick was too busy pretending to be into tuning his guitar that he hardly heard Alex, who walked into the room and announced

"Got us a show."

And immediately Gerard and Frank got stupidly overexcited, and it made Patrick focus his attention. Bob tapped the top of Patrick's head with a drum stick, smirking. "That means you have to actually like, practice."

Frank leaned over and poked Gerard in the side, sending the other boy scrambling away from him. "It's a school night, isn't it?"

"W-what of it? I'm old enough to know how to get myself out of the house past curfew, thank you!"

"It's okay if you can't though, I don't want you to get in trouble," Patrick said quietly before he had even realized he was talking out loud. Bob rolled his eyes at the statement, getting behind the drums.

"Patrick, we have two fans. Both of them should be at our first show in like, forever. Right?" He looked over at Gerard, who bobbed his head. Patrick wished he wouldn't encourage this behavior. 

"Right!"

It was all Patrick could do not to dig himself a hole in Alex Gaskarth's floor and die.  

 

 

In Patrick's dream, Pete nearly beheaded him. He was walking down the hall of his high school, and when he opened the door- the delivery boy zipped through.

And when he forced himself back into reality, the doorbell rang.  

 


	2. Come Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can be a pacifist and kick ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Shane Morris

There comes a time in everyone's life when the person they are completely obsessed with will show up at their door. Sure, they may not be wearing blue winter jackets and rollerblades that are entirely inappropriate with the three feet of snow on the ground, but they will come. They will speak the person's name softly, and the person will stand, transfixed, watching the words slip out of their mouth, dripping like honey. And then, the person they can't stop thinking about will say:

"Dude, you need to sign for this." 

Patrick blinked himself out of his trance, slightly confused. That wasn't what he was supposed to say. Then Patrick remembered just  _why_ Pete Wentz was standing on his doorstep, and thanked whatever god was out there that Andy Hurley wasn't home at the moment.

Patrick was also vaguely aware that Andy would have his head if he left the door open this long, letting all the cold air in, but it didnt matter now, because _Pete Wentz_ was on their doorstep. Pete looked kind of disgruntled at the moment, but just as beautiful in the early morning light as he'd been in the artificial lighting of Ryan Ross' house. With every bit as much eyeliner on. Patrick wondered if Pete remembered him.

"...Unless you're not Patrick Stump? You're Patrick Stump aren't you?" Pete squinted at the black scrawl on the label at the top of the package Patrick had only ordered to see him again, then looked back at Patrick, who dumbly blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. 

"We should go on a date," he said bluntly. 

Pete stood there with a weird look on his face, (it was something like his lip curling up a little bit and his eyebrows drawing together, it was kind of funny too) for about a minute before holding out the little brown box insistently. "I'm good, thanks. Seriously, you gotta sign for this."

"You were in my dreams again- is that weird or something? Because I can shut up about it," Patrick mumbled, and they skipped a few beats while that sunk in.

"Ohhhh!" Pete's eyes widened- with what, Patrick could not say. He hoped it was recognition and that Pete didn't think he was a total weirdo or something. "You're from the party, the one with the highway in your head! I remember you now."

"...What." Patrick seriously had to contain himself, because he almost giggled. He was too happy to even care how crazy this sounded, grinning stupidly. He couldn't control it, and that made Pete do the weird face again, thrusting the pen and the package at him.

"Something they probably don't teach around here. Um... Awkward. Okay. I have a job to do, so. If you don't mind?" He tapped the box with the pen pointedly.

Patrick just stared hard at him. "So you don't want to go on a date with me."

"I don't recall saying yes or no to that question," Pete said simply, and Patrick blinked. 

They stared each other down for a few minutes, before Patrick nodded, looked away, and fiddled anxiously with his glasses while Pete rolled his eyes. "Tonight? Is tonight good for you? I honestly don't know why I'm agreeing to this, but okay." 

Patrick's heart may or may not have stopped dead for a beat or two. "Seriously?" 

Pete had to shove the package into his hands to knock him back into reality, and Patrick forced himself to sign the sheet in his neatest handwriting, even adding a little heart on the end. Pete scoffed when he saw it and gave a sarcastic wave, rollerblading down the sidewalk. The snow melted all around his feet just like the crazy warm feeling Patrick hadn't lost yet that melted through his entire body. 

 

 

"Well you're late, for one."

Patrick _did_ , in fact, know this. He had sprinted half the way here after having a 2 hour conversation with Joe over the phone about different outfits, (the downfall to this was that now Joe thought he was _totally_ into Gerard now, and that wasn't really a good thing) and eventually just going out in what he'd been wearing all day, a t-shirt, jeans and his winter coat.

It had also taken Patrick the entire walk there to force himself into a sort of calmness, which had been surprisingly difficult. He'd felt so giddy he could scream. But Patrick didn't want to scare Pete off, not on a first date, especially. Outside was cold and cloudy, but at least Pete wasn't quaking in his boots when Patrick got there. That probably would've ended anything before it even started. 

Pete was looking nonchalant (and emo) as ever, perking up a bit when he saw Patrick and giving a little wave. Then the berating began, and then Patrick started to walk, wondering if the public park was a good place for a first date. If this _was_ even a date. Was it a date? He kept cutting eyes at Pete, who walked beside him with his hands in his hoodie pockets, a faint smile on his face- _god_ he was beautiful. Patrick blushed and focused only on walking. "S-so." 

"So?" Pete raised an eyebrow. "You okay? I could roast marshmellows over your face right now. Is that a sort of cold-defense mechanism or are you just happy to see me?"

"Cold defense... whatever." Patrick waved him off and cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "So uh. How'd you end up in this neck of the woods?"

Pete shrugged and looked up at the sky, and Patrick looked too, as if he'd find all the answers there. He found none and knocked into Pete, who shoved him right back, smirking. "My job. It's not even a bad city at all, much quieter than where I came from. Gabe said I'd like it-" He cut himself off and went silent, his smile disappearing as quickly as it had come. 

"Who's Gabe?"

Pete flinched and made an indignant noise and said "...Old friend" in a way that could only mean  _shut the fuck up, Patrick._ Oops.

"Sorry if that's a touchy subject," Patrick offered, but Pete just shrugged again, waved him off, and didn't talk until they'd reached the park. 

"So what about you then?" He lowered himself into one of the rickity swings as Patrick nervously took the one beside him. "What do you do?"

"I'm uh. I'm in a band?" Patrick rocked himself with a foot. Pete started laughing.

"That means you don't do anything. You just sit around all day thinking of me."

"Th-that's not true!" It kind of was, and Patrick scowled because _fuck Pete_ and his stupid attractive... _emo-ness_. A pretty hooded silhouette in the dark, smirking visibly on the half of his face that Patrick could actually see with his breath like a cloud out in front of him. He was actually making an effort with the swinging thing, swinging up into the sky so he nearly blended in with the darkness before falling back down, grinning. Patrick was utterly mesmerized. "I mean it's your fault I'm obsessed with you!"

"You're obsessed with me, so you _do_ think of me all day. And you do so whilst sleeping with another man? Scandalous." 

"ANDY'S NOT A MAN. Wait- dang it- _I mean_ -" If Andy had heard Patrick say that, he would probably have burned Patrick's underwear on the spot and tell him that he was more of a man than Patrick would ever be, and then probably go and throw stuff around at the park for an hour. Pete was laughing so hard he was shaking, and Patrick started worrying for his safety. 

"HOLY SHIT, YOU ACTUALLY _DO?_ **_DUDE_**." And then he did fall off the swing, into the three feet of snow below him- albeit after he'd slowed down a bit. Patrick jumped to his feet, torn between letting it slide and arguing about it.

"We're not like... Dating or anything," he mumbled, holding out a hand

"Noted." Patrick helped Pete to his feet and Pete dusted snow off himself- off his jacket and his mittens and his jeans and _god_ if those jeans were _any_ tighter they'd cut off his circulation. Jesus. Patrick forced himself to look away out of politeness. Or something. He then frowned, kicking at the snow and trying not to show how flustered he was. "Now I just feel stupid." 

"You're only stupid for coming out on a date with me. Don't feel too badly about it." Pete nudged him with his arm and Patrick smiled, nudging him right back. They continued to walk in comfortable silence for a while, and it started to snow, huge fat flakes drifting down from the sky.

"Is the weather like this where you're from?"

"No, not really. But it is nice." Pete held his hands out, examining the snowflakes that tangled themselves in the red wool of his mittens. "Or at least, the first two feet are nice, by the third it gets kind of tiring. But you're used to this by now, right?"

"Yeah, it snows a lot here. Hey, where are you from anyw-" Patrick fell flat on his face then, walking down a hill that Pete had already gotten to the bottom of without trouble. He slid a few feet, then sat up, giggling like a schoolgirl. God, how _embarrassing._ And cold, snow had gotten down his collar and was melting against his neck. It burned slightly and just felt kind of really _bad_. Pete trudged back up and helped Patrick to his feet while Patrick blushed like he was fourteen again and muttered his appreciation.

"Isn't it almost spring? Why the _fuck_ is it snowing?" 

"Weather. It happens." It was _really_ snowing now, getting hard to see. Pete seemed not to like this, and made his weird face again. 

"I can get behind a little bit of snow, but I'd rather not be outside when it's blizzarding. Come on, you." Pete grabbed Patrick's hand, (which almost stopped his heart for like, the fiftieth time) and wandered out into the flurry, dragging Patrick behind him. "How do you feel about Subspace, Patrick?"

"Whaaaa?"

It didn't really matter how Patrick felt about Subspace, because quite suddenly there was a plain white door with an odd trapezoid with a crown on it, and before Patrick could ask what that was supposed to be, Pete threw it open and jumped. 

Patrick was pulled after him, and then they were falling, suspended in total darkness- well it wasn't that total. They fell for a while, grips tightening as they went. Patrick could see Pete in front of him, but that was all he could see, Pete and another white door with a crowned trapezoid. And they fell right through-

"...Where the heck are we?"

"This is my front hall, Patrick." Pete was shivering, pulling off his wet boots and hoodie and flashing Patrick a half-smile. "Figured it would be nicer than an imminent blizzard?"

"You thought correctly." Patrick tried not to be too creepy in taking in every square inch of Pete Wentz's front hall. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, maybe some vampire cave or something, but it looked like any other house. White walls, carpeted stairs going up with wooden railings. The front rug was getting soaked with melted snow dripping off the coat Patrick had forgotten he was wearing. He removed it hastily as Pete went down the hall to the kitchen. 

The heat wasn't on, and Patrick grew steadily colder as the time wore on while Pete started making coffee, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked just as cold. "Y'alright?"

"B-b-bit cold."

"What a lousy date that was, eh?" 

Patrick started, and Pete seemed to realize what he'd said. "Oh, sorry. Date? No. My mistake." But he was smirking and that made Patrick smile and just feel generally happier about the situation. "... Also do you like, want a blanket or a sweater or something? 'Cause you look like you're gonna die." 

"I-I-It would be n-nice thanks-s..." Pete nodded and left the room, heading up the stairs.

....And Patrick followed him. He probably wasn't supposed to, but he did anyways, being as quiet as he could walking up the stairs. The carpet made it easy. 

And there was Pete's room, second door on the left. It was quite dark, but the lamp in the corner showed Pete half-naked and half in his closet, rifling about for a dry shirt. He looked back warily when Patrick made a little strangled sound, and he just looked so... wow. "You know, I don't know what you're freaking out about over there, but I supposed this would be much more awkward if I was a girl."

Patrick nodded, shuffling in a bit more. "I th-thought you were getting a blanket or something..."

"Sorry, are you cold? I'm cold too." 

Pete walked over and hugged Patrick tight. And that seemed to last a fucking _eternity_ (maybe because Patrick couldn't breathe and his heart was threatening to break his ribcage) before he pulled back a bit, looking at Patrick with this really weird expression and raising an eyebrow. And then he leaned forward a bit and closed his eyes and-

They kissed. It lasted all of two seconds and then Patrick pulled back a bit, alarmed but also the happiest he'd been in quite a while. It made him feel warm all over and Pete blinked, looking a bit confused as if he hadn't meant to do that. "Um. Sorry, if like... Yeah."

"I-if we're both still cold why don't we like... Go. On your bed?" Patrick bit his lip nervously as Pete mulled it over. 

"What about my coffee?"

"Are you really thinking about coffee right now?"

"What are _you_ thinking about?" Pete's expression went innocent. So Patrick kissed him again, harder this time, and Pete leaned into it, and _now_ it was a real kiss. Patrick closed his eyes, put his arms around Pete, and they just stayed like that for a while until Pete started pulling up Patrick's shirt. His cold fingers kept brushing against Patrick's stomach and chest, making him shiver. Pete kept giving him short little kisses until it was off and then backed him up against the edge of the bed. He kissed Patrick until he'd relaxed a bit, taking his face in his hands and pressing their mouths together harder. 

Patrick broke away for a moment because he'd forgotten to breathe, and moved up more on the bed so Pete could get on too before he started kissing him again. It was weird- not a bad sort of weird though, an awesome sort of weird. It felt really nice. Just really, _really_ nice, making Patrick feel warm all over. Warm, but not hot. Not like if he didn't get in Pete's pants this second he'd die. He wasn't even thinking about sex at all, just Pete. Pete and kissing and _wow_.

Patrick looped his arms around Pete's neck and pulled him forward and then he was being lowered down and there was just a whole lot going on at once-

"...You have tattoos," Patrick said quietly, breathing hard, and Pete chuckled and nodded. Patrick ran his hands over the ring of thorns around Pete's collar, slightly mesmerized.  

Pete sighed and pulled away, sitting up. "Changed my mind. I'm not going to have sex with you."

"...You were gonna...?"

"Was." He scooted over to the head of his bed and got under the covers. Patrick followed suit- ohhh it was _so_ much warmer. 

And then he had Pete wrapped around him and it was a LOT warmer and he leaned his head against Pete's chest and smiled. "I wasn't even thinking about that." 

"Oh whatever. Go to sleep."

"...Here?" Patrick was met with silence, and assumed it was a yes. Pete had closed his eyes and stopped responding. So Patrick kissed him on the cheek and did the same. 

 

 

Patrick Stump awoke to an annoying beam of light to the eye and almost screamed at Andy to shut the window before realizing Andy wasn't even present and this was not their bed. And that they had a single window in their room on the same wall as the bed, so this wasn't their window at all. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking around. Sunlight was pouring golden through the window, all over the floor. There were even birds outside in the tree- what a time to be alive. Pete was in the bathroom putting eyeliner on, and that was suddenly quite funny to Patrick.

"Morning sunshine," Pete muttered, and Patrick started making a valiant attempt to tame his hair. "As adorable as you are, I'm gonna have to ask you to clothe yourself and exit the peremesis. I have to go to work." 

Patrick nodded and kicked the covers off, swinging his legs to the side of the bed. He stood up and found his shirt as Pete pulled on his hoodie. 

"...This isn't a one-time thing is it?" Patrick wondered as he followed Pete out of the room. The other boy shrugged.

"It's whatever you want it to be."

Patrick nodded.

 

 

It took at least fifty billion hours to get back home, just to find Andy swaddled in at least seven different blankets and sitting in his chair with a piping hot cup of something. Patrick recieved and equally warm greeting.

"Close that fucking door before I use my vegan powers on you."

"Your vegan powers are mythical," Patrick sighed, closing the door behind him. He kicked snow off his boots but kept them on, shuffling over to the bed. "There's like, fifty feet of snow on the ground." 

"And you didn't come home last night. It was awfully lonely." Andy sippped his cup of something, regarding Patrick warily. "There's a letter for you on the counter. Didn't tamper with it, scout's honour."

"What honour, you tramp." Patrick retrieved the letter. The writing on the outside was near illegible, **_PATRICK STUMP (faggott)._ ** Well. Rude. And also poorly spelled. He made a face and tore it open. "Hey did I tell you about Pete Wentz yet?" 

"No. Did you sleep with him?"

"He's really adorable and amazing and wears more eyeliner than Ryan- you mean sleep as in sex right because we did not have sex."

"Break up with your high school boyfriend, Patrick. Who's the letter from?" 

Patrick shrugged and sat down on the bed, removing the letter and scanning it. "Jesus, are they in preschool? Uh, okay. Mornin' faggot... Uh..." 

Andy squinted at the page, adjusting his glasses. "Who the _fuck_ is Shane Morris?"

"I'm not liking his word choice- hey let's talk about Pete again." Patrick crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it across the room.

 

 

"Gerard? I uh... I think we should- _mmmf_..." Patrick had not been prepared when he was tackle hugged and kissed ferociously. He blinked a few times and Gerard pulled back, grinning and bouncing slightly. Was Patrick imagining things or were those skinny jeans? Not that he was really paying attention at all...

"I cut my hair, do you like it?" Indeed Gerard _had_ cut his hair, it had gotten messier somehow, and only stuck up around his ears now in jagged black strands. Patrick nodded automatically, a bit bewildered. "I wanted to look good for the show, sooo..."

Before Patrick could even reply properly, Alex called everyone to order. Bob sat on the floor looking dangerous, Patrick stood looking bored and Gerard sat looking at Patrick. Frank was engrossed in his DS at the moment, and Alex had brought his chart out, a stand with chart paper covered in red Crayola marker that read

**THE SOPHISTICUFFS**

Alex violently tapped the page with the wooden ruler in his hand, commanding everyone's attention. He slapped the ruler on his palm and cleared his throat. "Now, as you all know, we will be playing a show tomorrow at the Row with the Sophisticuffs. Don't be fooled, they're actually _quite good_."

He turned the page to a poorly excecuted drawing in orange marker. "Ezra Koenig sings and plays the guitar. Don't be fooled by my poor art skills, he's actually really talented and slightly adorable. Not that I think he's adorable, as we all know I am completely heterosexual."

"And totally not into Ryan Ross," Bob muttered to the floor, coughing when Alex glared at him, flipping the page. "Rostam Batmanglij. Batman is easier to say we'll go with that. Rostam Batman. What doesn't he play. He's also cute. And then, there are two Chrises."

Bob growled audibly. "Which one plays the drums, I hate him."

"You hate every drummer, Bob," Frank pointed out, and everyone nodded their agreement. Frank swore softly at his game and Gerard sighed wistfully. It was up to Patrick to break the silence. 

"So. Let's practice." 

 

 

The Row wasn't huge. It was just a large building that nobody even really paid any attention to, but there was a fair amount of people in there the night of the show. Which was probably exciting. Patrick spotted Andy almost immediately, (he was never very hard to spot, you just had to look for his hair) finding him with Joe and some other guy he didn't know the name of who looked a bit out of place. The guy was pretty cute, with longish black hair and a kind-of chubby face, leaning into Joe's side. Joe waved at Patrick, grinning.  

**[Joseph Trohman. 19 years old. Honorary Brother-In-Training. Rating: Can't see his fac** **e because of his hair.]**

Apparently, Andy was putting moves on whoever the mystery man was. Upon closer inspection, he and Joe were holding hands. Uh oh. 

"Who's your friend, Joey?"

"Not yours, Andy," Joe replied sweetly. "This is Spencer. Spencer this is Andy. He's a bit scary, don't let his looks fool you." Andy stuck his tongue out at Patrick's brother-in-training and held out a hand to Spencer, who shook it, looking a bit confused. 

"There is entirely too much hair over here," Patrick muttered, and Andy reached over to nick his silly trucker hat. Patrick dodged stealthily and Joe raised an eyebrow at their banter. "Anyways, thanks for coming Joey. You're my only tolerable friend ever-"

"HEEEY!" **[Gerard Way. 17 years old. Status: SDGFTYUK$^%^^CWWTHTCU I &%IK%*%$&^$WTHHCmu!!!]** Gerard came bouncing up, (what was he wearing? He looked like a Bob Bryar wannabe...) with his friend that nobody had ever seen before in tow. 

**[Brian Schechter. 17 years old. Status: Doesn't even like this music, forced here against his will.]**

Patrick barely managed a "hi" before Gerard grabbed his shoulders, yanked him forward and kissed him hard. Joe gasped and Andy turned away, but Spencer just seemed kind of confused about the whole situation. Brian groaned and rolled his eyes, like he hadn't known that this was how the night was going to go already. Gerard pulled back after what seemed like a minute, grinning.

"U-uh. Joe? S-Spencer this is uh-" Patrick's words stuck in his throat and his eyes widened.

Pete. Pete walked in, looking a bit lost and also a bit emo. And here Patrick was, with Gerard gripping him close like if he let go, Patrick might fall in water and drown. He was also beaming like a lunatic. But, _Pete_... 

**[Pete Wentz. Age: ?? ??? ?? ? . Status: Oh look, there's Patrick. Who's hanging off his arm? I'm not amused.]**

And suddenly the world was quiet, and everyone was staring at Patrick- who turned tail and ran backstage.

 

 

"My name is Ezra an-" He paused and fixed the mic, fiddling around until he was satisfied before tapping it and continuing. "My name is Ezra, and we're the Sophisticuffs and we're here to make you feel happy and stuff."

He counted them in. And Pete swore, he blinked and he missed the entire song, because they were bowing. There had been a split second of noise, and that was it. Well, okay. Pete was only focusing on them to ignore Andy trying to pick up Spencer as Joe chided him, only sitting by them because they'd been around Patrick when he came in, and he assumed that Patrick might know them. They were paying him no mind at all.

He just sat there by himself listening to melody after melody until positivity was leaking out of his ears. The crowd had become a horrendous mass below their balcony where people had fallen over and started cuddling and daisies started sprouting through the floor. It was totally horrific.

By the time Arma Angelus came on, the entire audience was in a heavy, flower-induced stupor and they all were standing on the stage looking a bit lost. While they got ready, Joe ceased his bickering long enough to scoot closer to Pete. "Sorry, who are you? You're just sitting awfully close to us and Gerard keeps looking over suspiciously." Pete figured Gerard was the one cheering the loudest over there, who'd been glaring daggers at him earlier. Well. 

"Um. I'm Pete Wentz uh... Patrick Stump asked me to come?"

Joe's eyes lit up and he nodded. The way his hair was in general distracted Pete. "Oooohhhh, okay. I'm Joe Trohman. Patrick's kind of my brother."

"Kind of?"

"...It's complicated." A shrug.   

"Uh well. Nice to meet you anyways." Pete smiled and Joe grinned, scooting even closer and leaning in until their shoulders were pressed together and it looked like they were gossiping like fifth graders.  

"How do you know Patrick, hm?" 

Pete floundered for a moment, stuttering out half-sentences before deciding "Oh, we're friends-"

And then Joe was distracted. "ANDY FOR FUCK'S SAKE THAT IS MY BOYFRIEND." 

Pete looked back- okay that was going to get PG-13 and over quite fast, he refocused on the stage, where they were finally ready, despite their unresponsive audience. Bob raised his sticks high in the air. "WE ARE ARMA ANGELUS. ONE. TWO. ONE TWO THREE-"

Before the four even came, the lights flickered and went out, leaving the oozing mass of positivity that used to be the audience in euphoric darkness. There was the sound of breaking glass and someone screamed. 

Pete groaned and leaned back in his seat when the lights came back on, showing a single solitary figure standing among the sleeping bodies of the crowd. He had a fauxhawk thing going on, with a stupid looking muscle shirt and cutoff shorts. He just kind of looked like a thug, and he was staring Patrick down. 

"Patrick Stump, my name is Shane Morris, and I'm here to fuck your shit up." 

"BUT _WHY?_ " Patrick had been secretly hoping the dude was looking at someone else. No such luck. 

Shane cracked his knuckles on each hand, cracking his neck side to side. "I'm Pete's first evil ex-boyf-"

"OKAY, NO, LET ME EXPLAIN, PLEASE." Pete was leaning over the balcony, and everyone looked up at him. "IT WAS A BAD BOY PHASE, OKAY, EVERYONE HAS THEM. He was the only non-goody-two-shoes at my school- we beat everyone up together. It lasted like, a week, and I kissed him like. Once, so. He became more of an asshole since then, which seemed impossible at the time. He also got a lot uglier."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, WENTZ." 

"Shane Morris, Shane Morris... HOLD UP. _YOU'RE_ THE ONE WHO SENT ME THAT LETTER." Patrick set his guitar down. _Now_ he could not remain passive. "YOU'RE THE RUDE ONE. WHO SAID ALL THOSE NASTY THINGS ABOUT US. WELL. _YOU KNOW WHAT_." 

Bob groaned, putting his head in his hands, and Alex sat down on the stage, settling down for the ride. "Oh, here we go." 

Patrick stormed off the stage and went over to Shane, staring him down. "See, I'm a nice guy. You'd probably like me. Allow me to make that impossible for you." 

Shane bared his teeth and swung a punch like a barbarian. Patrick sidestepped it, scowling harder when it almost knocked off his hat. "Your letter was horribly written. I stopped about halfway through because I just couldn't deal with it anymore. You suck at heckling. We could start with how none of your insults had contextual substance."

Another punch, this one took off Patrick's hat, and that only made him madder. The room had gone totally silent, (or even more silent than it had been, with even the people on the balcony stopping communication) somewhat awestruck as Patrick swept nimbly out of each attempt for his life and Shane lost patience fast. "You're all shock. It's fluffy. It's lazy. You shouldn't even be picking fights when you can't handle them."

"SHUT UP!" One of Shane's punches went straight through the floor, spraying shrapnel everywhere and moderately frazzling Patrick. But he wasn't about to lose to a hairbrained moron like Shane Morris, especially one as vulgar as he was. 

_It would not **stand.**_

"You're transparently sad, trying to get me all riled up like that, and I'm not going to fight you because, honestly? You're not worth a single second of my time."

"YOU'RE A HERION ADDLED RENO DINNER THEATRE HAS-BEEN," Andy supplied from the balcony accompanied by a quieter ** _WOO_** provided by Joe and a thumbs up from Pete. Patrick nodded, pointing in the general direction of his friends.

"That too. I would point out that I like pretty much everybody, an I've known you all of five minutes and I can't _stand_ you." 

One of Shane's punches connected firmly with Patrick's stomach- but it didn't do anything. Shane looked up at him, slightly confused and dumb, and Patrick smirked. "Beat me, call me names, it's not gonna get you anywhere in life." He shoved Shane over so he fell hard on his ass- vanishing into thin air, dropping three silver pieces that clattered to the floor.

"...Is that it?" Andy wondered, and Pete shrugged.

"He had the ability to summon Ryan Ross on command, but that usually didn't do anything."

"Oh. GOOD JOB PATRICK!" Andy screamed down at his disgruntled roommate, who was picking up the coins. The audience had started waking up, and Bob and Alex were breaking out of their confusion. Chaos subsided and everyone regrouped down by the stage.

"Sorry about him," Pete said quietly, and Patrick waved a hand, still looking sort of miffed.

"He deserved it." Patrick spotted Gerard coming and grabbed Pete's arm, dragging him out the back door without explanation, and didn't stop no matter how much Pete protested. "He only left like, three dollars though." 

 

 

The bus ride back was spent mostly in silence as Patrick stared at the coins in his hand, (not even enough to pay for the bus, Pete had had to cover it, how embarrassing) still kind of pissed off about the whole ordeal. Pete kept looking over at him, smiling slightly, then looking back out the window until Patrick had worked up the courage to speak. "Would you go out with me?"

Pete stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay." 

"Do you wanna make out?"

"....Yeah, kinda."

Patrick blushed a little bit and kissed him. and they just sat there and enjoyed that for a while until everyone else on the bus was staring. Pete brought his knees to his chest, leaning on Patrick's shoulder and closing his eyes. "So uh... You dated that Shane guy?"

"Not really. But uh... You kind of have to fight uh... my seven evil ex-boyfriends." He let that sink in. "If you want to date me."

"...Oh. You dated seven evil guys?" Patrick was worried about that pattern a little bit. 

"Not all at once!" Pete insisted hastily, growing quiet and busying himself with playing with the drawstrings on his hoodie. "But yeah, that's it..."

"So I have to fight them all to date you."

"...Kind of, yeah. You can't polite them all to death though, as impressive as that was."

Patrick smiled and turned his head. "I'm okay with that." Pete sighed softly and gave him another kiss before getting preoccupied by his hoodie again. "...But is this Gabe guy one of y- what's up with your head." The space around Pete's head seemed to be sucking the light out of the surrounding area, and it was really weird. Was it some sort of Subspace thing? It was freaking Patrick out. "Are you okay?"

"TOTALLY FINE."

Patrick frowned at his tone. "Do you still want to go out with me?"

"YES."

... And that was that.

 


	3. Versus the World!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob is a great friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: All Time Low Album Titles and the Breaking of the Fourth Wall

**[Patrick Stump. Transfer Student. 16 years old.]**

**  
**Maybe he'd been a bit impulsive, (maybe more than a bit) but those kids had been asking for it, okay? Maybe getting into a fistfight in the first fifteen minutes at a new school wasn't the right idea, and Patrick kind of regretted it. Mostly because he'd rather be anywhere else in the world other than sitting in this uncomfortable office chair, ignoring the boy two chairs to the right and staring at the secretary. How could a woman have so much facial hair? It was horrific.

"Hey, hey you." The boy to his right leaned over, and Patrick gave him a bored look. He wasn't in the mood for cute smiley boys today. Especially not cute smiley boys with messy hair and dark eyes and ear to ear grins. He felt sore and irritated, and he was probably gonna have a shiner. _Fuck._ "What're you in for?"

Like it wasn't obvious? "Fighting," Patrick mumbled, looking away again. The boy just shifted a seat down, grinning like a total idiot. It was irritatingly charming. 

"Did you win? I don't think you did. What were you fighting about?"

"I didn't like their word choice," Patrick sighed, and the boy giggled madly. 

"Are you new? I am too, that's why I'm here. I wouldn't last in a fight like you though. My name is William."

Patrick lightened up a bit because the boy was actually kind of nice, nothing like the jerks he'd met at the gates, who had insisted if Patrick didn't want to be called those names, he shouldn't have gone to a Catholic school if he was like how he was. Patrick was too busy not caring to care about what they thought. Not like he hadn't put up with jerks like them before, and it started a scuffle. Boom. Fight. Office. William.

**[The past comes in flashes. Must be a dream.]**

"Hi again!"

"Why are you in my place of residence?" Patrick recognized Office Boy's voice, but couldn't tear his eyes from the T.V screen long enough to really get concerned about it. Super Mario was _far_ too important. "Who let you in?"

"Your brother," Office Boy said, bouncing on his feet. 

Patrick was remotely confused by this situation. He blamed his death in the game on Office Boy, who came and sat down on the couch next to him. Patrick had a second before he respawned to glance at Office Boy, who was even more smiley and cute and messy haired since this morning. _Ugh._ He refocused on the game. "Joe's not my brother, he shouldn't be letting people in."

"He's not your brother?" Office Boy leaned forward and Patrick leaned to the side, growing increasingly irritated. "That's cool too I guess. Sorry he let me in. I'm thirsty, you have any pop?"

Patrick refused to answer, and Office Boy giggled. "I'll go ask your brother for some."

"JOE IS NOT MY BROTHER." And that was that. Office Boy got up and left the room, humming. Patrick figured that while he was in the kitchen, he vowed he'd become friends with Patrick, because he didn't give up after that. Office Boy stayed late talking to him and Joe, for starters. Bugged Patrick all lunch the next day and sat next to him in English, chatting excitedly with him when they were supposed to be doing the work they didn't even finish. All the while, Patrick wasn't sure what to make of it. He'd memorized the name William Beckett by the end of the day, though. At least William hadn't followed him home this time.

Joe said he should just be happy he found a single friend, and Patrick supposed he was right. So when William Beckett was convinced that Patrick hated him in the morning, Patrick decided they should be friends. And then Joe decided not to leave it alone and brought _Patrick's cute little boyfriend_ ' up every chance he got. The days passed faster and faster, and Patrick actually started enjoying William's company more and more. William was vague, but sweet, and Patrick knew nothing about him, and he had the weirdest little ideas- like wanting to start a band for one. Patrick explained that he couldn't play the guitar, so this was a bad idea. Joe could play the guitar, but _he_ couldn't, so maybe _Joe_ and William could start a band. William wasn't on board with that idea, and pressured Patrick into it anyways. 

And then, there was Bob, who came along when Patrick switched classes because of constant heckling in the other class, and the teacher stuck him next to one of the weirdest kids he'd ever seen. Bob Bryar, who had a deadly bored expression of total apathy, but really nice ginger hair and blue eyes and also a lip ring, which was interesting. He thought Patrick was a slacker, and Patrick had been determined to prove him _kind of_ wrong. 

Unlike William and Patrick, Bob had his own social class, and was quite high up on the list of people not to fuck with. William figured that maybe forming a band would elevate their status to something a little more appealing than _faggots_ or _losers_ , because both labels were incredibly derogatory, and that wasn't fun at all. 

William and Bob were quite different, to say the least. William was kind of enigmatic and didn't like to tell too much about himself or his family, while Bob was really straightforward with everything, and would just tell you what was on his mind, good or bad. He could also hold his own in a fight, something William (and Patrick) could not do. So when that fateful day came, Patrick _knew_ it would be Bob who would come to save him. 

... Patrick got kidnapped. By students, of course, nothing too too shady. Kind of embarrassing, sure, he hadn't even _been_ in a proper fight since the first day of school because William had been keeping him in line and Bob had started keeping most of the assholes away. But it had done nothing but make him rusty, so the kidnappers had no problem throwing him over the shoulder of their head goon and walking out of the school. They handcuffed him to a pipe on the roof and just waited. Patrick had already figured that it was Bob they wanted, so he didn't have much to do in the meantime, other than worry about the presentation they were both missing and think of different ways to beat his level in Super Mario.  

But Bob did show up. A little bit late, sure, he wasn't about to run on Patrick's account. It had started to rain at that point, the grey skies overhead opening up and sending downpour. Patrick was shivering and the head goon kept checking his watch every three seconds, looking miffed. As if he hadn't expected Bob Bryar to be late. Ha.  

Bob beat up every single boy in that school without too much hassle, and by the time he got to the roof, he was breathing hard and looking murderous enough to make the head goon run off with his tail between his legs. Bob took a moment to appreciate Patrick's predicament as Patrick screamed and shouted and wriggled in his handcuffs, (he so totally wasn't into that, he made that clear) and complained about his feet hurting. 

They kissed in the rain, which was so stupidly cliche that they both started laughing. They then had to hurry back to school in time for their presentation. Bob had to carry Patrick back because the complaining got so bad. 

After that day, Patrick and Bob were an item, and Bob started hanging out as much as William. They spent a ridiculous amount of time playing video games with William and Joe at Patrick's house. They also spent a ridiculous amount of time holding hands and just simply enjoying each other's company. They kept busy with school, video games, little dates and jam sessions in Bob's basement.

They played the Bandslam at their school, and William acheived his dream of schoolwide recognition.

...And then Patrick moved.

 

 

Patrick realized he was dreaming when he snapped back into focus on the couch in the house he'd lived in with his parents and Joe with a controller in his hand and Pete Wentz skated through the door, looking a bit amused and a bit out of breath in the light pouring from the T.V screen. "I thought you didn't like Halo?" 

"I only don't like it because Bob's better than me at it and he doesn't even try," Patrick explained, trying to stay focused on the game. "But this is my dream, so I'm awesome at it." 

"Pffft." Pete sat down next to him, watching Patrick's character take out the fleet of aliens he was fighting. What a cheater. "By the way, Andy's trying to wake you up. You should probably get up, it's almost noon."

"That's not that late," Patrick mumbled, and Pete rolled his eyes, kissing him on the cheek. 

"You're brutal. Wake up."

 

 

"NOON ISN'T EVEN THAT LATE," Patrick insisted to his roommate as he got dragged onto the bus. **[Patrick Vaughn Stump. Protagonist of the story for some reason. 23 years old. Fun fact: He's been the hero the entire time. We know. We were shocked too.]**

Andy got on behind him, shoving him down into a seat and taking the one next to him. "Noon is plenty early." **[Andrew John Hurley. Gay roommate of Patrick, but that's an insignificant detail because Patrick is about as straight as he is. 25 years old. Fun Fact: He actually DOES have vegan powers.]** Andy was currently reading the newspaper and looking bored as Patrick let his eyes wander, shaking the remaining memories of his dream and the dread that had begun to set in out of his head. He peeked around at the cover of the newspaper, anything to distract Andy from his warpath. "Who's that."

"Are you changing the subject? It's Zack Merrick. They're filming a movie here in a few days. He's the lead." Patrick studied the movie star a moment longer, frowning. He was kind of really attractive, but in a more conventional way.

He was also kind of fucking ripped, like, _goddamn_. He was wearing a tank top that neatly exposed his lovely muscles and lovely ink. _Damn._ His expression was rather broody though, not something that belonged on someone with so little eyeliner on. Patrick looked up at Andy, who sighed.

"Now I _know_ you're just trying to change the subject, so I'll cut you a deal." Making a deal with Andy was worse than making a deal with the devil, because the devil would just ask for your soul. Andy always wanted more, something that would be beneficial to you in the long run for a steep price. Patrick stared at the floor uneasily and nodded as Andy continued. "You're going to break up with Gerard today. No exceptions. Not even if you die. Dying waits until you break up with your high school boyfriend, okay?"

"But he's nice and it's hard and he'll be so upset-"

"If not? I'll tell Pete about him." Andy set down his newspaper on Patrick's lap, getting to his feet. Patrick was stunned momentarily, and Andy was off the bus before he realized what was happening. So, he knew what he had to do, but he liked it less and less every time he pictured Gerard's cute little face crumpling in confusion when Patrick told him that he'd suddenly lost interest with him out of the blue and broke things off. It was maddening to think about, but all he usually had to do to get the thought out of his head was think about Pete and the feeling would go away a little bit and he'd feel sort of light and warm for a while until he thought of Gerard again. 

It was almost nice out at least, and Patrick got off the bus with his coat unzipped. The sun was out and high, and he wasn't even shivering. That was fantastic. Patrick searched out a payphone and used the loose change in his pocket to call Gerard, which felt kind of weird because he hadn't done it in weeks. Gerard just showed up at practice as usual, and sometimes saw Patrick milling around when he was on his own or coming back from Pete's house and would follow him for a few hours after that. 

Gerard picked up on the second ring, sounding totally breathless. "H-hello?"

"Hey, hi, how's it going... Um..." Patrick cleared his throat, forcing down his anxiety. "Um. Are you done with school for the day? Like, do you wanna hang ou-"

"YESIDOITOTALLY _DO_."

Patrick held the phone away from his ear, raising an eyebrow. The amount of excitement on the other end of the phone was putting him on edge and making him feel bad again. He thought of Pete and continued the conversation. "I'm uh... At a payphone right now-"

"What are you wearing?"

Patrick blinked. "...Um. Is this a joke? You're like... Not gonna..."

"If you're thinking of phone sex? No. Come on Patrick, I'm not that kind of girl." Patrick forced out a laugh and Gerard continued, sounding pleased with himself. "Seriously, what are you wearing? A jacket? Like, a green spring jacket that's not done up at the front and a black shirt with white words and jeans-"

"Now you're just freaking me out. This isn't some vegan voodoo magic is it? You're not a vegan are you-"

"No! I'm right here!" Patrick whipped his head all around- sure enough, there was Gerard, still swaddled in his winter coat with his phone to his ear. Skinny jeans and boots, since when had he been like that? Patrick smiled hastily and gave a little wave thorugh the glass. He had to force himself out of the phone booth, where Gerard tackle-hugged him again, nuzzling his face in his chest. 

Oh dear. "I missed you! You haven't called. Er. Nevermind, what are we doing?" 

"Shopping." Patrick wasn't really sure where he wanted to go, and he shuddered when Gerard grabbed his hand, missing the mittens that had kept them at a reasonable distance. Gerard was grinning like a total lunatic, looking like the happiest kid in the universe and it was kind of terrible. Patrick didn't want to walk that far like this, so he stopped by the nearest interesting shop- a used CD store, one that he liked a lot, and one that Gerard would be milling about, picking things up and not holding Patrick's hand. Soon enough he was doing just that while Patrick contemplated what he was going to say, how he was going to do this.

"Oh! Look!" Gerard grinned and picked up a CD. "Wow, why is this here? I've already got it... I got one of the first copies. Hey, have you heard of Ray Gun Jones? Wow I love them, they're like, my _second_ favourite band! I'm a bit biased though... They _should_ be my first, Mikey would be mad if I said they were my second." He jostled Patrick's arm, but Patrick had been lost as soon as the accursed name slipped out of Gerard's mouth. "They're playing here soon! Do you know them? Do you like them?"  

"They're okay," Patrick muttered, looking at his boots. Gerard hopped on the spot and clutched the CD to his chest. "Oh. Oh oh oh. Oh. Patrick. I was wondering if uh... If you'd want to come over for uh... for dinner sometime? To meet my parents? And maybe my brother, I mean, if he's gonna be here for a bit." 

Shit. Patrick's eyes widened and he was shaking his head before he even realized he was doing it. "Sorry, no. Probably not. I'm too old for you, they won't approve!" 

"...I don't care." Gerard's face went totally, embarrassingly red and he gave a small smile that made Patrick incredibly nervous about what was going to come next. "I'm in love with you." 

Patrick opened his mouth to say something, but it wasn't working properly, so he was just making a lot of stupid sounds and Gerard blushed harder and giggled nervously and holy shit _what_. Patrick had to choke the words out as best as he could, which wasn't very well at all. 

"I don't love you- I mean I do- I mean-" Deep breath in, deep breath out. "I think we should break up. Like, now."

Dead silence, the small smile slipping of Gerard's face and _oh god_ , this was the face Patrick did _not_ want to have to see, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Patrick had to fight off the urge to pick him up and hug him and take him for ice cream, it was so fucking _terrible_. "... What?"

"I think we should break up," Patrick repeated, and it was physically painful to do so. 

The other boy blinked hard and looked down, then back up, as if Patrick might have been joking. Seeing Patrick's stony face, he nodded. "Oh."

"Sorry." 

Gerard nodded and Patrick gave him a hug which he returned way too strongly. When he let go, he turned around and didn't look back, and on the bus ride to Alex's house he just felt really shitty, thinking about Gerard's stupid adorable puppy-dog face and his confusion and oh, it was the worst thing _ever_. He never wanted to ever do that again. Patrick lost track of time and missed his stop, sending him on a wild goose-chase around the city on busses and leaving his pocket empty. No sooner had Patrick gotten through the door to practice, Alex was on him like a hawk.

"Where's Gerard tonight?" **[Alexander Gaskarth. The pretty good singer. 22 years old.]**

"Oh we uh... We broke up," Patrick said, and that was enough to prompt Alex to leave well enough alone. Apparently not anyone else. Everyone else was extra dickish tonight.

"His poor high school heart." **[Bob Bryar. Hates everyone, including you. 23 years old.]**

Patrick gave Bob an irritated look, because pictures of Gerard's desperately sad little face flashed in his mind and he had to shake them away as he tuned his guitar.

 **[Frank Iero. Alex's odd roommate. 20 years old.]** "Can I date him now?" 

Alex and Bob gave him a look as Patrick picked out a quirky, happy tune on his guitar, one that did _not_ match his mood in the least. Their practice went relatively well, for the amount that Patrick was distracted, and then he forced Bob to walk him home again so he didn't get abducted by aliens or something.

The next night, Pete came over and made everything a whole lot better.

Patrick had spent all day trying to get some of the man smell out of the apartment, because the apartment smelled entirely too much of Patrick and Andy, and that wasn't really a good thing half the time. Now, it just smelled like garlic toast and pasta sauce, which even Andy had to approve of, even if he refused to eat any of it. He was loitering around Patrick's salad when Pete showed up. Andy ran for the door and opened it before Patrick could offer any sort of protest.

 **[Pete Wentz. Enigmatic Emo Ninja Deliveryman. Age: ?? ? ? ? ?. Everything: ?? ?? ? ??? ??. Fun Fact: ? ?? ??? ?? ? ?]** He pulled down his hood and smiled at Andy when he came in, hands jammed in the front pockets of his purple hoodie. "Good evening." Andy ushered him in as he looked around, then nipped out after excusing himself. Pete went over to Andy's chair and started removing his shoes. Patrick did a double take.

"Your hair."

"What about it?" Pete looked up through his fringe at Patrick, who was gawking at the red streaks he was seeing. "Do you like it?"

"It's nice," was all Patrick said, and Pete stared at him for a moment before shrugging and taking his other shoe off.

"You gonna show me the place?"

"Okay, this is our livingbedkitchen room. There's the bed. You've already seen the chair, yes it's quite comfortable.  And then the bathroom."

"...Is that it?" Pete smirked at Patrick's half hearted denials and assurances that he hated the place as much as the next guy. He decided to stop blubbering and get them food, because he was kind of starving. Pete complained about the apparent lack of table, but was otherwise satisfied, and Patrick could feel the stress of yesterday slipping away as they sat and talked for hours and watched stupid stuff on T.V. And also kissed a lot, but by then the T.V was forgotten and nobody cared about the stupid band playing a show in some far off place.

At one point, Pete pulled away. "Your hair's getting long," he said, running his fingers through the straight brown strands framing Patrick's neck. 

"Is that bad?" Patrick frowned, and Pete shook his head quickly. 

"Mere observation." **[Patrick's last haircut: 431 days ago, 3 hours before his breakup. Looked fucking ridiculous. Blames breakup on haircut. Andy's been cutting his hair ever since. It's a pretty gay scenario.]** Pete rolled his eyes at Patrick's worried expression and kissed him , and everything was okay again.  

 

 

"He's _dead!_ " 

Bob raised his head sleepily, and then he was looking right into... ** _his_ ** face. **_His_ ** smug face, **_his_** stupid brown eyes, stupid, dazzling, cocky smile that Bob had been seeing all over fucking everything lately. **_He_** walked down the stairs leading to the roof where, in any other dream, Patrick would be handcuffed to a pipe. But **_he_** did not belong in this dream at all, had no place here, and it was making Bob madder than he usually was. "He's dead, because I killed him." And **_he_** pushed **_his_** stupid sunglasses back up **_his_** nose, toying with **_his_**  perfect black hair before brushing past Bob. 

"Who's dead?" Bob asked, as if it wasn't obvious, and **_he_** started laughing.

"Patrick Stump. I'll see you at the funeral, Robert?"

That fucker. Bob did see _**him**_ at Patrick's funeral, when they were wearing black as they stood around the coffin and **_he_** still had **_his_ ** stupid fucking sunglasses and _ **his**_ stupid fucking grin and **_he_** was standing right next to Bob, nudging him with an elbow. "It's kind of sad isn't it Robert?"

Bob shrugged and looked over at Patrick's placid face in the red silk of his black coffin. Before they closed the coffin for good. "If he got up and started ballet dancing this could be an awesome music video," Bob said, and the stupid man next to him chuckled and shook his head.

"That's not going to happen. He's dead."

"I know he's dead. He had it coming. It's kind of sad though." Bob scratched the back of his head, trying to muster up any kind of emotion that wasn't hatred of the presence next to him. "...sort of."

"Question, Robert, did you invite the cheerleader?"

"It depends, Urie, did you let the vampire show up?" 

"He looks suspiciously like that one guy you met in high school doesn't he? The one you thought Patrick liked." 

And then everything was weird again, and Bob sighed because this usually happened too. There was a fucking choir here, in black and red like this was gospel or something, singing some song Bob had never heard before. Some ginger guy and his supposed girlfriend acting a whole lot more distraught than anyone else here. There was that fucking cheerleader girl, some guy breaking it down and a vampire that did kind of resemble William Beckett a little bit. Bob considered saying hello but he probably wouldn't be heard over the music.

If that boy with antlers were to kiss that girl any harder he'd probably be eating her face. 

...Was that a fucking spaceman.

And then Patrick's brother-in-training was playing the guitar on his casket- before Patrick threw it open, sending him tumbling off. Patrick promptly stood up, stretched, and gave Bob a weird look. "Do you always dream in Fall Out Boy music videos?"  

"What the fuck if a Fall Out Boy?"

 

 

Bob Bryar hated everything.

But he didn't hate everything in a sad or emo sort of way. He hated things in an angry sort of way. He hated waking up after weird dreams. He hated not knowing what a Fall Out Boy was. He hated taking showers too early, hated putting on proper clothes before noon and being bothered by three ridiculous roommates who complained about him being too loud too early even if he was doing it involuntarily. He hated the walk to work, he hated the stupid little video store he worked at with his stupid co-workers, (who he hated) so when he rolled in late with coffee that had already burned his tongue and most of his mouth, he had a feeling it wasn't going to be a very good day.

Rian was almost asleep on the counter when Bob walked in, cracking one eye open. "You're late."

"I can see that I was needed," Bob shot back, finishing his still-scalding coffee anyways, because it was half done and life sucked. Rian gave him a dull look, and Bob bared his teeth, hissing like a cat and making Rian laugh. "This is mine, I hate you." 

"You hate anyone who plays the drums," Rian said plainly, leaving the counter to find his jacket. 

"I hate everyone," Bob corrected him. "You fit both categories."

"You're the scariest person I ever met. I'm glad you're on my side." Rian smiled tiredly, running a hand through his non-existent hair. "I'm headin' out, okay? Want me to put on a movie for you?"

Bob brightened considerably. For what it was worth, Rian was kind of tolerable sometimes. Hm. "Something like... really dark and angsty would be fantastic."

Rian put on the most angsty thing Bob had ever seen. He was only halfway done when Patrick-fucking-Stump came through the doors, and it was too early for this amount of apathy. Bob hardly looked up, he was focused on the movie.

"You still work here?" Fucking Patrick with his adorable... stuff. His stupid face and his stupid glasses and his stupid trucker hat and his sideburns that would probably be really nice just to pet- Bob looked up, irritated.

"Yeah. What do you want. You're not even allowed in here, you're like... Blacklisted."

"I need movies! It's for a good cause!"

To which Bob replied "Pay back your $400 in late fees between you and.... Andy Hurley. Do that and you're good. He's that guy you sleep with, right?"

"Yeah, we're non-committal. Come on, Bob. I need these movies- I have a list hold on." Bob watched him fumble through his pockets to try and find the list before slapping it down on the counter. "There!"  

"Okay, I get _Don't Panic_ , but the rest of these movies suck. _So Wrong It's Right_ is mediocre at best- why these, Patrick, why?"

"That actor, Zack Merrick."

It took Bob a second, then he went around the counter. "What about him? Do you have a weird man-crush on him or something?"

"I have to fight him." Bob stared at Patrick for a long time before deciding not to concern himself with this nonsense, returning to his searching. Patrick talked idly behind him, but he'd stopped listening a while ago, and was busy trying to erase any thoughts of his weird dream out of his head. Something about having to fight him to keep a new boyfriend. His name was Pete apparently. Oh. Well.

Bob told himself he didn't care, gave Patrick his movies and left that at that. Patrick bounded out looking quite happy, waving behind him. "I OWE YOU LIKE, _EVERYTHING_ , BOB BRYAR."

"I've got your virginity, Patrick Stump, you literally have nothing left to give me," Bob mumbled, putting his head down on the counter, ready for another boring day of nothing. Add that to the list of things he hated: random visits from Patrick Stump.

 

 

"Andy, do you ever feel like someone somewhere is talking about you."

"I'm fucking fabulous, of course people are talking about me," was Andy's response, and Patrick found his lack of faith disturbing. Andy was currently engrossed in his video game as Patrick sat on the bed and worried about stupid little feelings. Something was amiss. Something was not right. There was a disturbance in the force, and it probably had something to do with Pete and possibly a sibling-in-training, that was just the vibe Patrick was getting.

"Shouldn't you be reading? I compiled a file folder of Zack Merrick for you and you're sitting here staring at me. I know I'm irresistable but seriously, come on Patrick, get reading!"

"You have the modesty of Julius Caesar." Patrick had to admit the dossier _was_ quite proffessional. Andy would get a big head- or a bigger head, as it was, if he said anything about it though. So he didn't.

"Did you watch some of the movies?"

Most of the pictures were Zack shirtless and kind of sweaty and generally quite attractive. Patrick grumbled under his breath. Oh, _Andy_. "I started watching _Dirty Work_ today. It was mediocre at best."

"No, _So Wrong It's Right_ is mediocre at best, _Dirty Work_ is just okay," Andy chided. "Okay, information on him. He's a sellout, but I said that. Pro skater. Fucking ripped. Probably plays the guitar."

"So now what, how do I train?"

" _Tony Hawk_ and five hundred push-ups starting with the push-ups, go."  

And on that day, humanity recieved a grim reminder- that Andy Hurley was kind of a dick (but still fucking awesome). Patrick only grumbled once about stupid glasses-wearing people with too-long hair, which was stupid because he also fit that category. 

After that was done and he couldn't even feel his arms, he was subject to band practice at Alex's house, (which was terrible, their band kind of really sucked at the moment) and a conversation concerning someone who Patrick did not want to talk about being on the cover of a magazine. The stupid faces of the members of Ray Gun Jones on display for the world.

Frank (busy playing a computer game of some description) held up the magazine on the desk beside him. Patrick hissed and looked away, but Alex took it and examined the cover. "Wow, check it out. They certainly made it, didn't they?"

"I don't care!" Patrick growled, burying his face in a pillow. Bob gave him a weird look. 

"Does it bother you that their bassist has Gerard's last name?" Frank wondered, but nobody was paying attention to him, so he just went back to his game. 

"I don't know, shouldn't we be happy that at least one of us got recognized like this?" Patrick perfectly described how _not_ happy he was with this by smacking Alex with the pillow repeatedly, which turned into a pillow war when Alex fought back as Bob looked on, unimpressed.

 

 

" _Hello? Andy?_ "

Andy had _not_ asked for this. He did _not_ want the drama, he just wanted to play Sonic in peace without having to worry about Patrick's issues. He did _not_ want to play Dr. Phil. Was that too much to ask? He tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, focusing on the boss at hand with eyebrows drawn and teeth gritted. "Gerard? Is that you?"

" _Y-yes, it's me! Hi! Uh. S-sorry to bother you, is uh. Is Patrick there?_ "

Patrick. Andy had told Patrick to break up with the poor boy, why was he calling the apartment? If Andy didn't trust his best friend's word so much, he'd be furious. This was probably a last resort kind of thing on Gerard's part, and that was kind of heartbreaking. "He's out. Why?"

" _Oh uh. W-well he said we could do something later so... Do you know when he'll be back?_ "

"Uh. Eight-ish? Listen I don't know what he told you but-"

" _Can I wait with you until he gets back? I mean, if that's not an issue?_ "

Andy paused his game and let the silence hang between them for a moment, slightly disgruntled. "Uh, look, I don't think that's a good idea-"

" _It's just that I'm closer to your house than I am mine-_ " Andy threw the phone down on his chair, throughly ruffled, and hurried over to the door, throwing it open and scaring the smaller boy on the other side out of his wits. He looked ruffled now, holding his cell phone down sheepishly and looking up at Andy, smiling slightly.

**[Gerard Way. 17 years old. Why is he here.]**

"Gerard, you need to go," Andy said quietly, and he watched Gerard go, hanging his head. It was enough to make him feel bad, and he didn't stop thinking about it until Pete and Patrick came home to watch stupid movies, at which point he opted to go visit Joe. 

What a disaster. 

 

  

    


	4. Perspectives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard isn't happy with Patrick's new boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: The Dismemberment of Modern Art Sculptures and Killjoy Nostalgia

Who _was_ he? Gerard wanted to know- he _needed_ to know. Who was the mystery boy hanging off Patrick’s arm when the two of them left his apartment early in the morning? Gerard had only been out there for about an hour when they showed their faces, (it wasn't _stalking_ , Gerard was just _passing by_. By sitting in a hedge) but he was pretty much numb and stiff from the cold and it sucked. And to add insult to injury, there was this… _guy_.

Who was, Gerard had to admit grudgingly, pretty fucking attractive. Even if a boy had no business wearing that much eyeliner, he was still attractive and it was horrible and it left Gerard feeling a little more upset about the situation than he’d been at the beginning of this recon mission.

Upset enough, even, to try and learn more about this mystery boy. He may or may not have tailed the two of them as they wasted their day away with shopping and going to the park and talking with Andy. Riding busses, holding hands, and eventually going back to Alex’s house for dinner, which was totally not okay with Gerard. Totally not okay. 

That should be Gerard in there, not some weirdly attractive emo boy with stupid streaks in his hair. Gerard pressed his face against Alex’s cold back window, sighing miserably as he watched everyone working together to make dinner through the condensation colledting on the glass, all of them smiling and laughing, (except for Bob) sitting around the table and chatting casually. It fucking sucked being out here when they were all having such fun inside. It felt horrible. 

Well, if Patrick liked red hair so much, that’s what he’d get. It hit Gerard in a horrific burst of inspiration from the heavens, but not even that lightened his mood any. Gerard stormed away from Alex Gaskarth’s house, patting himself down for his wallet before taking out his phone and calling Brian, who had already pieced together that this call would probably be about something Patrick had done by the time he picked up. Gerard didn't really call for other reasons anymore. “I need you to be at my house in fifteen minutes,” Gerard said, sounding kind of scary.

“Why the fuck do I have to be at your house in ten minutes?” Brian was balancing his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he sat in his room and tapped away at his video game, eyebrows drawn in concentration. He wasn’t really in the mood to be helping Gerard with Patrick problems at the moment. He just wanted to drown in mindless violence because he was bored. 

Storm down the corner, take a left, across the street. “Come on Brian, pleaaaase?”

Momentary silence on the other end of the line. A faint sigh of irritation. “Fifteen minutes, Gerard, this better be good.”

And Brian was there fifteen minutes later, complaining about the walk over as Gerard paced angrily about his room, throwing a box of bright red hair dye down on the bed. “He’s dating this new guy, Brian, you should see him! All emo and eye liner and… this…” He covered one eye with his hand before it clenched tightly into a fist and he punched the air. “I mean, who even wears their hair like that?”

“He’s dating someone new already?” Brian was examining the instructions on the box, frowning.

“I know right?” Gerard was tugging angrily at his short black hair, growling through his teeth now. “I mean I was wondering why he stopped calling. And he was always too busy to hang out with me and…” He flopped down on his bed, sighing as miserably as he looked. For a minute there, Brian felt sorry for him, and reached out and patted his friend’s knee sympathetically.

“That’s because he’s a jackass, Gee.”

Gerard sat up immediately, snatching the box of hair dye from Brian and scowling at his friend. So much for making him feel better. “He’s not a jackass! He’s really amazing and sweet and he’d never willingly do something like this to me! I mean he was going on about how he’s too old for me or whatever- UGH.” Brian took the box back, looking concerned. He pulled Gerard to his feet and brought him to the bathroom, just to get him to shut up for a moment.

“I can’t believe you’re dying your hair.” Brian didn’t approve of any of this, but he was helping anyways, sitting cross-legged on the counter as Gerard sat on the side of the bath tub and waited until he could wash everything out.

“Maybe he’s just dating him because he’s older,” Gerard reasoned, and Brian groaned, leaning his head against the mirror behind him. This was all they’d be talking about, he knew it. This was all they ever talked about. “He’s probably like, 25 or something… stupid emo… _UGH_. He probably has a head start on me too! I mean like…” Gerard kept talking, but Brian had had enough and hopped off the counter. He walked into the next room, flicking some music on. The stereo blared to life, drowning out his rambling best friend. When he walked back in, Gerard was still talking. “I mean how great could he be, right?”

“Do you think Patrick was cheating on you?” Brian reclaimed his perch as Gerard sputtered multiple protests, trying to piece together whether that could be a physical possibility and all the reasons it couldn't be at the same time.

“NO! Never! He’s not like that at all, Brian, he cares about my feelings and whatever, this is just because I’m younger…”

“Fine, fine whatever. Wash that stuff out.” The music was interesting. Brian found himself bobbing his head, smiling a bit even. It was catchy and unique, and he liked it a lot. “Hey, who is this?”

“Ray Gun Jones. Mikey’s band? I thought I told you?”

“Your brother’s band?”

“Well it’s not _his_ band.” Gerard cut the water, drying his hair off. “He’s the bassist. Help me put this stuff in?”

Brian helped best he could. “Aren’t they getting pretty big?”

“Ray Gun Jones? Yeah.” And they sat and chatted about the band for a while, how Mikey got along with almost everyone and how the drummer’s hair was entirely too big, and how fantastic their singer was and how Mikey was dating him now.

“I knew him when we were younger too, but Mikey never let me be around. Apparently I was too embarrassing. Am I embarrassing? No, don’t answer that.” Gerard turned the water back on and Brian sat down beside him so that he could hear him better. “He said something about Ray too, I don’t know what’s going on there though. It's very confusing.”

“Haven’t spoken to him in a while?” Brian craned his head back, watching the blood-red water swirl down the drain. Gerard laughed weakly.

“Like I said, I’m a bit embarrassing.” Brian handed him the towel when he cut the water again, and Gerard dried his hair off. He had hair dye staining his hands and neck, but

“Holy shit, I look amazing.”

 

 

“You have a dog?” Patrick hadn’t noticed him last time he was here, and he was sure he’d have noticed a big white slobbery dog with all the time he’d been spending here. Pete wandered back into the room with a fluffy blue towel over his wet hair, looking at Patrick and the dog.

“Yeah. He’s been wandering around in the street for about a week. His name is Gabriel for right now.”

Patrick made a face at the dog, who was looking up at him and panting heavily, getting slobber all over his jeans. He scratched Gabriel behind the ears. “Gabe? Like your other boyfriend you refuse to talk about?”

“Banish the thought,” Pete mumbled, sitting on the other side of the bed and tossing his towel on the floor. Gabriel immediately trotted over to Pete, Patrick looking after him wistfully.

“Andy says we can’t have a dog”

“Good. Your place sucks,” Pete said simply tapping the dog on the snout until he sat down, looking up at his master and panting happily. “And don’t say it doesn’t, because it does.”

“Oh whatever! Talk about something I care about now.”

“How about Zack Merrick?”

“Okay, grade nine.” Gabriel hopped up on the bed and planted himself between Patrick and Pete, taking it upon himself to make sure Patrick’s face was clean by licking it until Patrick was flailing and begging him to stop. Gabriel did not listen, of course. “Drama class right? He was like. Skinny and annoying and followed me around all over the place, right? And he asked me out like 42 times and I finally said yes and that was that.” Pete finally brought Gabriel back over to his side and the dog sprawled over his lap while Patrick tried in vain to get dog slobber off his glasses, muttering spitefully. “It wasn’t some beautiful love story or whatever, we only went out for about a month, and that was it.”

“That’s it? Nothing important happened?”

Pete opened his mouth to say something, then though better of it, stopped and shook his head. Patrick was too busy cleaning his face off to notice.

 

 

“I wanted to get a haircut before I had to kill Zack Merrick at least!” Andy gave Patrick a dull look and ignored his pitiful protest completely. There was nothing wrong with Patrick’s hair as it was. In fact, Andy liked it this way. Long hair was a blessing. Plus, if Patrick wanted a haircut so badly, he should stop getting up at noon.

“Your hair looks fine. You don’t need a _fresh new look_ to turn somebody into coins, you know.” It was a nice day out, so Andy had consented to walking Patrick down to the place they were supposed to be shooting the movie at. This was also the place where Patrick was supposed to beat up Zack Merrick. Fat chance. Andy was only there to maybe see his friend get beat up and to drag him home after. Plus the weather was nice, that was good too. Andy liked good weather. He didn’t really care about any of this Patrick and Pete business.

The set was quite nice. A cobblestone square surrounded by tall, budding trees that provided nice dappled sunlight and lined with park benches occupied by extras. If you looked past the gigantic, ugly bit of bronze corporate art in the background, it would be perfect. There was no point to it at alll, it was simply there. It looked like a giant, watered down Nike swoosh sitting on the swoosh end with the long bit sticking up in the air. There was a stone fountain in the middle of the square to add to the visual appeal and distract from the swoosh, and there sat a man, partially engulfed in shadow despite the sunlight all around. He had a beer and a book, and he was painfully obvious.

When Patrick looked back uncertainly, Andy was tapping away on his phone. He gave PAtrick an encouraging wave. “Yeah, go kill him or whatever. I’m telling Bob and them to come and watch so have fun in the meantime.”

But Patrick grabbed his arm and started dragging him along as he texted. All the way to the guy, who was even scarier up close. Patrick jostled Andy’s arm until he looked up. He was practically cowering behind his friend now. The man looked up, raising an eyebrow. He was more conventionally attractive than anything. Ripped as Patrick remembered from the movies and the pictures and pretty much everywhere, ink running along his arms. He had a neat looking fauxhawk thing going on, his brown hair gelled to perfection, dark eyes narrowed, pretty mouth turned down.  

“Can I help you guys?” He asked, seeming a bit irritated at being disturbed.

“You’re Zack Merrick right?” Patrick asked, and Andy groaned, smacking himself in the forehead. Zack stared at Patrick for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“ _DID YOU NOT GO OVER THE OFFICIAL LOOKING DOSSIER I MADE YOU?_ ” Patrick patted Andy on the head to try and pacify him, coming out from hiding to talk to a confused looking Zack properly.

“Who are you?”

Patrick opened his mouth to respond, extending his hand slightly then pulling it back. He floundered awkwardly while Andy shrugged apologetically. Patrick finally decided not to shake the hand of the guy he was supposed to be fighting, and put on his best poker face. Even still, it was terrible. “Patrick Stump,” he said finally.

“Alright,” Zack said, and he set down his beer bottle and his book on either side of him before standing up and rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. Patrick cowered behind Andy again, who seemed torn between tearing Zack apart himself and letting Patrick deal with his own battles, like he was supposed to. The latter won out and he stepped to the side, muttering an apology as Patrick stood, stunned.

Zack punched him.

Hard. Hard enough to send his teeth rattling and the world spinning and the ground rushing up to meet him. He hit it hard, giggling madly as Andy leaned over him- and then everything went black.

When he woke up again his ears were ringing- and Andy was sitting and **not** drinking beer with Zack Merrick and what looked like Bob and Frank. What excellent friends. Patrick peeled himself off the cobblestone, feeling like he’d been hit by a train, and hobbled over to rejoin his friends. He sat down remotely unnoticed, between Andy and Bob. Apparently Zack was talking about the movie.

“It’s called _Nothing Personal_. Sweet right?”

“Another ditzy romantic comedy with too-old actors playing too-young parts, more like,” Bob mumbled taking a long drink of his beer before pressing it against the throbbing side of Patrick’s face. Patrick made an appreciative little noise and leaned into it, grabbing Bob’s hand and pressing it closer. “Is it gonna suck? I bet it’s gonna suck isn’t it?”

Zack sighed, taking another sip of his beer. “Topic change.”

“So you know Pete Wentz?” Bob gave Patrick a look and took his beer back, ignoring the noises Patrick was making in protest. “I’m only asking because he seems to be an actual cool guy and if he actually ends up being terrible I’d be vaguely upset.”

“You like him?” Patrick was grinning from ear-to-ear. Or at least he was until he winced and Bob pressed his beer against his face again, just to make him be quiet.

“Pete? That was a train wreck,” Zack mumbled, leaning his chin on a hand. “I did like him a lot, and then he broke my heart and that was that. Left me for the first pretty boy that walked in his peripheral vision.”

Patrick frowned, a cold feeling twisting through his stomach. That didn’t seem like something Pete would do at all. Before he could voice his opposition, Zack glared hard at him. “If you're going to say he wouldn't do that you must know him all that well. He’s nothing like how you think he is, Patrick. Not only did he cheat on me, he spent the rest of high school dating that cocky _musician_.”

“ _CHEATING YOU SAY_.” Andy smacked his unopened beer into Frank’s chest, and the younger boy grabbed it with an inaudible hiss of pain. “Who does _that_ remind you of, huh?”

“They are actually pretty perfect together,” Bob said, and Patrick glared at him. Zack ignored the comment and continued.

“They almost didn’t let me join the Guild, but I knew they had to. Six wasn’t enough and I’m actually really awesome.”

“Guild?” It was the first word Frank had spoken since he’d arrived. Everyone was staring at him, but he was too busy drinking to properly pay attention.

“Did Morris not say anything about the Guild? That’s so like him. None of us actually care about him- good on you for knocking him down,” Zack said and Patrick smiled a bit before grimacing and leaning into Bob's beer. “Anyways, we’re the Guild of Pete’s Evil Exes.  We’re trying to think of a better name, I swear.”

“It is pretty terrible,” Andy said, Bob nodding his agreement.

“Anyways, it’s been fun or whatever, but we should get down to business. Give me all your money and I’ll tell Gabe I beat you up.” Zack smirked and Patrick felt sick again. “It’s not that far from the truth.”

“Sellout,” Frank mumbled, and Andy put his face in his hands.

“Did _anyone_ read the dossier? Anyone. _No?_ ” Zack was getting to his feet, Patrick trying to pull a disgruntled looking Bob in front of him. Bob swatted him away and moved to the side. Patrick had to think fast.

“WAIT. WAIT. FIRST. C-can you do ten push-ups in five seconds?” Stalling. He had an idea, but he needed time, and that was the best he could come up with under short notice. Zack gave him a weird look and dropped, starting on his push-ups as Patrick ran up to Andy. “I need your help, okay?” He only had three seconds to explain his plan, because Zack was done. Andy nodded, half understanding his role in the scheme.

“How do you feel about skating off of corporate art?” Patrick pointed at the ugly Nike swoosh sculpture. “You were a pro skater weren’t you?”

“This seems like a really stupid idea but I actually want to try it. I have no skateboard on me though.”

Frank raised his hand to command everyone’s attention, then pulled a thick white hunk of sidewalk chalk out of his pocket. “We can summon one if you want.”  And when everyone stared he added “… Vegan powers? No? Okay.” There was a ring of flat pavement around the fountain, and he drew a circle with a bunch of crazy marks inside it. Everyone stared on in horror as he put both his hands in the centre and it started glowing red. The pavementinside it shimmered and seemed to turn into liquid and the light got so bright that everyone had to look away-

When he moved back, there was a skateboard, and everyone was kind of traumatized. Andy raised his hand as Zack went over to retrieve the skateboard. “For the record, I can’t do that.” Frank just shrugged and cracked open another beer, returning the chalk to his pocket as if he had not just called upon the powers of Satan to summon a recreational four wheeled device.

Patrick shook himself out of his trance and looked over at Andy, who nodded, and then they both watched as Zack contemplated how to actually get up there. He settled on tossing the skateboard at Andy and scaling the sculpture like teenage heartthrob King Kong. Once he was up on the platform, he waved.

Andy set down the skateboard and stood still until he was emanating some sort of weird green light from all over. The skateboard floated into the air as everyone gawked. Except Bob, who was unimpressed. 

“Vegans,” he mumbled.

And Zack set off, down the ramp that was way too steep. Way too fast. He went shooting off the end, flying into the air-

Andy yanked the skateboard out from under him and Zack continued flying, looking mildly confused until he crashed into the cobblestone, scattering coins everywhere.

There was a long moment of silence and Andy stopped glowing, adjusting his glasses like the amazingly epic motherfucker he was. “Coins are mine,” he grumbled.

All of them started meandering away from the scene of the crime, staying remotely quiet. Patrick decided he should go tell Joe about today’s events because Joe liked to hear about this kind of stuff and he hadn't talked to Joe in a while.  So Patrick bid his friends adieu and went to the coffee shop where Joe worked.

Joe was missing in action, but Ryan was there. Which was not what he needed at all. Patrick groaned audibly as soon as he noticed, and Ryan scowled crossing his arms over his chest, thereby covering up his nametag. Patrick walked in anyways, feeling like he should say hi because of social obligation. “Oh look, it’s Patrick Stump, here to brighten my day.”

“The honour’s all mine,” Patrick mumbled, and Ryan rolled his eyes. “Do you know where Joe went?”

“Joe finished his shift like, two hours ago, Patrick!”

“Where did he go?”

Ryan bit his lip, considering, then shrugged, examining his nails just so he wouldn’t have to look at the guy in front of him. “To the mall with that delivery boy boyfriend of yours.” He slammed his hand down on the counter, suddenly livid. “I told you to leave Pete alone, Patrick! What the hell?”

But Patrick had other concerns. Why were his brother and his boyfriend hanging out together without him? How did Joe even know Pete? What kind of stories were they swapping about him? This was nerve wracking, and he wasn’t sure whether to overreact externally or panic internally. He only remembered he was in the middle of a coffee shop with Ryan Ross prattling at him when Ryan said something that caught his attention.

“And then my best friend, you know, your _ex-boyfriend_ , right-”

That sliced through Patrick’s attention like a razor blade and he snapped back to focus on Ryan, eyes wide. Ryan smirked like Ryan did when he knew he had the full attention of whoever he was talking to. “Yeah, he’s back in town. Exciting, right?”

Patrick was out of there before he could discover what treachery Ryan had committed.

 

 

“Boring old encyclopedias,” Pete mumbled, examining the label on the package for the thirtieth time. Joe leaned over his shoulder to try and help him out and made a face.

“This book store’s all the way across the mall, I think. So let’s just make our way over there?” It was looking pretty busy now, and Pete didn’t really fancy pushing through swarms of people, but Joe seemed quite nice, and he didn’t mind hanging out with him at all. “Sure, why not.” 

They walked and talked for a while. Joe was less of a spazz than his somewhat-brother, and he didn’t take everything quite as literally. Still, the relief was short lived.

“Am I seeing things or does that angry looking red haired boy have a gun?” Pete pointed and Joe started, alarmed.

“Uh. Two. If I’m seeing correctly.” A murmur had risen, people looking over suspiciously, eyeing Pete and the boy before looking elsewhere and walking away quick as they could.

 _Great_. Pete sighed heavily. “I’ll be right back,” he said, handing a confused looking Joe the package. It was apparent now what the bicolour gunman was after, but people seemed more concerned about him right now, because he was ripping the arm off of a giant bronze statue outside the candle shop. A whole crooked arm with a balled fist at the end. Joe’s mouth fell open and he dropped the package on his foot. “ _PETE YOU CAN’T JUST DESECRATE CORPORATE ART LIKE THAT!_ ”

He was drowned out by the murmur of the crowd, which got louder when the gunman started shooting beams of searing red and yellow light at Pete, who swore and ran at him, deflecting the molten rays with the arm.

“ _WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU._ ” Pete swung the arm at the boy, who danced out of the way and kept firing. “Did Gabe send you? He did, didn’t he?"

"YOU'RE _DEAD!_ " the boy screamed, and Pete hopped out of range for a moment, deflecting the yellow rays with his trusty arm. He ran up and swung again, nearly getting the boy this time. There was a brief moment where the boy stopped shooting, staring at Pete with his eyes wide. "I know you from somewhere..."

It dawned on him. The library. The library with Patrick that day- Pete watched, disgruntled, falling back beside Joe as the boy fell to his knees, trembling. "H-he cheated on me..."

Joe was yelling about not tearing up art objects in front of candle stores and the boy was having a breakdown in the middle of their epic battle and Pete stood there kind of lost holding his statue arm until the boy aimed his yellow gun straight at Pete's head. "I'll tell you who I am. My name is Gerard Way, and Patrick is mine!" He fired, and Pete hit the floor before struggling back to his feet and charging. Gerard seemed to be able to defy gravity at this point in time, however, and ran up the side of the elevator, hopping up on the second floor. Pete grumbled and dropped his statue arm spitefully, thanking whatever god was up there that he wasn't wearing rollerblades today as he gave chase.

"You're pathetic," Gerard snarled, and Pete twitched. He threw himself at the younger boy, sending him sprawling on the floor. He kicked Gerard in the stomach, sending him rolling a few paces before the other sat up and fired a bright red shot that grazed Pete's cheekbone and hurt like a motherfucker. Gerard snickered in triumph as Pete rubbed angrily at the blood. The crowd was in an uproar, all except Joe, who was frantically trying to get in contact with Patrick- with little luck.

**[Elsewhere, our hero and his roomate debate the practicality of vegan meat. If you can actually call it that.]**

"You think you're so great don't you, with your stupid hair and your stupid eyeliner!" Gerard was on his feet again and Pete was without a weapon, dodging coloured shot after coloured shot. "But just remember that there's someone younger and better off than you!"

The plant- a shot got Pete in the foot and he swore, grabbing the potted tree and swinging it at Gerard's head. The pot connected, and the impact sent the younger boy flying, skidding on the hard linoleum floor. The red gun skittered out of his reach, but he clutched the other one tighter. "So, you got lucky..."

"I don't like you," Pete snarled, throwing down the abused plant. "Now get out of my sight before I throw you down a floor." 

Gerard flipped him off before running off, leaving his other gun behind. 

Pete retrieved it. Then he took the elevator down as the crowd applauded and Joe rushed to his side, hovering and fussing. "Dude, we should get out of here. The owner of the store came down to watch so I gave him the package- what is that and why do you have it."

"Nevermind." Pete was examining the gun. It was too familiar. "Who's this Jared boy. Was he talking about the Patrick we know?"

Joe nodded. He was dragging Pete out of the mall now, but Pete seemed not to care. "They were dating. For like, a week or something. I don't know, Patrick doesn't tell me anything!"

Pete just smirked and tucked the ray gun in his waistband, pulling his sweater down over it. He'd return it soon, to its rightful owner.

 

 

Patrick had just finished his heated debate with Andy when the phone rang again. He picked it up immediately, and before he could even get a word in, the voice he hated most in the world filled his ears, thrummed through his brain and made everything inside him stop working.

" _Hello Patrick._ "

Patrick tried to remember how to breathe, maybe by forcing air down his throat. The room around him had gone dark, and now it was just him and the phone and the dreadful voice inside it knocking around his head.

" _It's me._ "

"It's you," Patrick choked out, resisting the urge to drop the phone and run out of the room. He briefly considered burning down the apartment and taking on a new name, moving to New Zealand and herding sheep for the rest of his days. Andy would not approve, so he swallowed hard and tried to continue the conversation. "Hi Brendon."

" _Haven't talked to you in a while. How are you?_ "

"Deathly ill." That's how he felt. "You?"

" _Oh, I'm doing alright._ " His voice was so lovely, thick and smooth like honey or syrup- but it was also like poison, poison Patrick imagined was dripping out of the phone, infecting his brain and shutting him down, disintegrating the mental blocks he had on all the memories he wanted repressed. " _Been busy. You still living with Andy? Sleeping with him?_ "

"We're non-committal."

" _Do you have an actual boyfriend? Trying to figure out how jealous I should be._ " Patrick had feared this question. He squeezed his eyes shut, biting hard on his lip to compose himself enough to reply. He felt kind of dizzy. Oh dear.

"I have an emo ninja deliveryman boyfriend and it's fantastic and he's fantastic."

A pause on the other end. " _His name?_ "

"I'm not telling!"

" _Kidding. I already know. Pete Wentz, right?_ " The strangled choking noises Patrick was making must've given it away. " _Oh my. What a catch. Yeah, I'm jealous now._ "

"You're jealous?"

" _I can be jealous._ "

"You're evil and you left me," Patrick said before he could stop himself. There was more silence on the end of the line. "Why are you calling? To screw me up?" It was working if that was the case.

" _I need a favour._ " Oh god. " _See, we're playing a show at the Ice Palace this weekend, and we need someone to open for us. Last band conveniently dropped out last minute. Want in?_ "

"...Oh." He'd been expecting something really really evil.

" _Of course you do! I'm going to call Alex if you don't show up, I don't think you want that. You better be there._ "

"I better be there," Patrick repeated. He couldn't feel his fingers and the phone nearly slipped out of his hand.

" _Well, It's been a blast talking with you, Trick, but I gotta jet. See you soon._ " The lilt at the end, the lilt in his voice before the click, before the phone fell out of Patrick's hand. It killed him.

Andy found him collapsed on the front rug, looking utterly shell-shocked. And he knew. And he raged. Well, he raged after picking Patrick up off the floor and dragging him to the chair, wrapping him up in blankets and making him hot chocolate, growling the entire time. He even decided to make dinner without complaining, calling Joe and handing the phone off to Patrick like he asked. 

"If you're calling me something's wrong. What's wrong Patrick?" Oh, how Patrick loved his little brother-in-training. His voice was a relief after the assault he'd had to endure earlier. He sighed happily, snuggling down in his nest of blankets and warm. "Oh god- did Pete break up with you over the red-haired boy? He was acting so weird when we were leaviing I had no idea-"

Now he was worrying again, any traces of good feelings gone. Shit. "No! Brendon called! What's this about Pete?" Andy hissed audibly at the accursed name and Patrick waved to pacify him.

"Why would _Brendon_ call?" Joe wanted to know. "To fuck up your life again?"

"What were you saying about Pete? How do you even know Pete anyways? Are you friends or something?" Heaven forbid. Patrick flicked it on speaker so Andy could hear too. "Did you tell him about Gerard? Oh god... Gerard is done, Joe, I promise!"

"I didn't say anything! We were just walking through the mall because he had to deliver a package and then this boy in a blue jacket came out of nowhere and started shooting ray guns? There was this huge crowd and Pete ripped the arm off of a statue and then started beating him up and there was like, a plant in there somewhere, I don't know..." Patrick was shocked. He was also ignoring Andy, who had doubled over in the kitchen laughing so hard.

Maybe it was pretty funny in a way.

 

 

"I have terrible news," Patrick announced around tuning his bass.

"Are we talking about poverty or the little children starving in Africa or the fact that you were dumped but we'll be meeting your new boyfriend soon." Bob sure knew how to silence a room. But Alex and Frank were listening.

"Brendon asked us to play a show, so we have to go talk to him tomorrow about it." That caused a reaction. Frank smiled and Alex hollered and punched the air and Bob looked absently at the wall, grumbling under his breath.

"This is huge! We could get noticed!" Alex did a happy little dance and Frank went back to his game, blissfully apathetic. "This is sooo sweet."

"It's at the Ice Palace," Patrick sighed, plucking out a sad, sad little tune on his bass, but Alex was too happy to get down. For about five minutes, then the smile slid off his face.

"We suck don't we."

"Yeah," Bob said quietly, seeming more upset than usual.

"Call and cancel," said Frank. They couldn't agree more.

 

 

Patrick felt jittery walking to the Ice Palace with Pete the next night, and he hoped it wasn't too obvious because Pete seemed pretty happy. It was the nicest night of the year so far, and apparently that was cause for celebration, even if all Patrick wanted to do was curl up and die, preferrably at home with Andy nearby.

Pete poked him in the side, having guessed what was bothering him. "We're going to see your ex-boyfriend's band, right? What's his name again?"

"Brendon Urie." Patrick shuddered violently at saying it aloud and Pete gave him a mildly concerned look.

"That's a weird name. His initials sound like boo, and I think that's amazing. What's his full name?" Patrick frowned and rubbed his chin anxiously. He wished they could just stop talking about Brendn completely, but he didn't blame Pete for being curious.

"Brendon Boyd Urie."

"That's even weirder." Pete poked Patrick again, and Patrick was trying very hard to be worried, but his boyfriend was making it hard. "Do you have a middle name?"

Jeez, not this. "Vaughn. It makes me sound like an old man, doesn't it?"

"It makes you sound like a vampire or something. Does that make sense?"

Patrick shrugged and they walked in silence for a while while he worried and worried and tightened his grip on Pete's hand. He was counting the steps to the Ice Palace now. Too few in number, bring him closer and closer and closer to

"You didn't ask my full name."

"The way you say that makes me afraid of it."

"You should be. Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz." He grinned when Patrick gave him a weird look. "The third."

"Jeez..."

"Yup. Now tell me about breaking up with Brendon, I'd love to hear about that."

Patrick cleared his throat and looked at the cracked pavement, fiddling anxiously with his hat. "It's kind of complicated... We uh... broke up on new years. He wanted to go be with his best friend from when he was a kid uh... Michael? Michael I think."

"And then they were bed-buddies the entire time, right? Poor Patrick." He got a kiss on the cheek that made him feel a little bit better. "I dated a Michael." Patrick was seeing crowds now- Jesus Christ there were a lot of people. A huge mass of them in one big clump in front of the venue. He tried to focus on what Pete was saying, but it was lost in the buzz of voices.

There were a ton of people inside, conversations bouncing off the walls and the high ceilings, the lights dim. It took a while to find Alex and the gang in the chaos- because Alex looked a lot different with his hair unceremoniously pink. What. Pete almost burst out laughing.

"Alex wh-"Alex scowled at him hard enough to shut him up, but Patrick coouldn't resist petting his hair. It was soft and sweaty and ew, but Patrick was mesmerized. "And Bob trimmed his beard- wow you guys are all dolled up. I feel out of place and underdressed." Pete pulled him away so he'd stop petting a distraught looking Alex as Bob gave him a dull look. 

"Hey Patrick, did you see who Frank dragged in?" Bob pointed with his beer, but the two were easy enough to find. It was hard to miss that red hair. Pete scowled immediately, lip curling up into an unbecoming snarl. Frank had his arm around Gerard Way's shoulders, and the younger boy looked back, smirking. Patrick looked away quickly, stunned, pulling Pete away from view before he bounded over and ripped Gerard's throat out with his teeth. 

That left Alex and Bob hanging around without much to talk about. They watched Frank and Gerard for a while before getting creeped out by the odd couple and moving- bumping into Bob's co-worker and his friend on their way to nowhere. 

**[Rian Dawson. Bob's romantic interest/drumming rival/coworker/??? ?? ??. 26 years old]**

**[Actually scratch that first bit. There's nothing there. Hee hee.. Hee....]** "Fancy seeing you here," Bob grumbled, and Rian laughed. 

"Seriously? I don't mind this band actually. We really only came because Jack is madly in love with their bassist. I don't see it, honestly."

 **[Jack Barakat. Rian's roommate. 24 years old.]** Bob assumed that was him at least, he'd jeard Rian talk about him sometimes, but it wasn't like he was given full physical descriptions of the guy or anything. Jack was giving Alex, who hadn't spoken yet, a weird look. A very weird look where he raised his eyebrows a bit and his mouth turned up at the corners. Jack was scruffy. He had brown eyes and black hair with a weird skunk stripe through it and big thick eyebrows and a big nose and Alex was staring at him like he was seeing the sun for the first time. It made Bob feel ill, so he re-commanded the attention.

"Is the bassist of Ray Gun Jones really that attractive?"

Rian gave Jack a look, and Jack began saying exactly what he would do to the bassist of Ray Gun Jones if he had his way, and Bob figured half the stuff he suggested could not be legal. Alex just seemed to be further traumatized or infatuated or something, so Bob had to pull him away before he started drooling on Jack's shoes. He couldn't snap Alex out of it, but Gerard and Frank certainly did. 

"Alex I love your hair!" Gerard grinned and Alex stared at him for a moment, before shaking himself out of it and mumbling a think you. Bob was staring Frank down hard, until the shorter boy was squirming uncomfortably, looking everywhere but at the ginger menace. "I came to see Brendon," Gerard continued. "But the band is excellent. Do you like them a lot?" 

"What? Oh, Brendon's cool I guess." He thought about it for a second, turning to Bob. "We were in a band weren't we? Me and Patrick and him." 

Bob grabbed Alex's face and shook him. "Yes, Gaskarth, Patrick used to date him."

There was no time to be surprised, because Rian and Jack had reappeared, informing them that it was about to start. And the room went black. In the crowd, Patrick Stump stood, quavering next to his boyfriend. In the crowd, Bob Bryar was actually smiling, because he was happy being here with Rian and Alex. In the crowd, Frank kissed Gerard on the cheek and Gerard went red and made a face. In the crowd, Alex Gaskarth was having a quarter-life crisis.

On the stage the lights turned on, bathing the room with white, and the overwhelming brilliance of Brendon Urie. There was smoke everywhere, and he stepped out and Patrick felt his heart stop and everyone went wild. The music started, but all Patrick could hear was the blood pounding in his ears and Pete practically screaming over the music.

"I think we were talking about the same Michael."     

 


	5. Infinite Sadness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikey's not actually a dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mikey being older than Gerard. Content may be disturbing to some audiences.

The worst part was? It sounded good. Pure raw and powerful, every note of every instrument wrapping around Patrick's head and making him feel falsely secure for a moment before Brendon's voice smashed through again, pulsing through his brain and forming a soft, thrumming wave of torment. It made him shiver like a pathetic little leaf next to Pete, who seemed unaffected by the music entirely and overall kind of bored.

Brendon sang kind of like an angel, or maybe like a fallen angel, every bit as beautifully but just as evil. The bassist was shredding it, the drummer was going crazy and it was just... Fantastic. And it sucked. Patrick stood, horribly dumbfounded, until the set was over and Pete dragged him through the hot, writhing crowd of people, who were cheering so loudly Patrick couldn't hear himself think.

Pete brought his moderately traumatized boyfriend to where his friends were loitering, in a dark, empty corner in the back of the joint. Alex still seemed pretty out of it and Bob looked like he could use another drink or three. Ryan was there too, looking bored. Alex must've brought him for some reason, who knew why Alex did things. Gerard and Frank were hanging out beside Ryan, but nobody was really paying attention to them anymore, that whole situation was just unsettling to everyone. Patrick was leaning on the wall because he was shaking so bad.

"Told you they were good," Alex said quietly, and Patrick stared at his friend for a good five seconds before throwing his arms over his head and groaning like he was on his death bed. He slid down the wall and sat on the floor, feeling ill, like he was going to throw up. He really just wanted to leave. But instead, they were back here, waiting to go meet the cause of his sickness.

Life was _grand_.

Pete was running fingers through our suffering protagonist's hair as gently as he could, frowning, and that helped a little bit, but it was all Patrick could do not to grab Pete's hand and run straight out of here. Before he could settle on what he wanted to do, he showed up. Handsome as ever, sticky with sweat from the performance and grinning behind his sunglasses. Pete had to haul Patrick to his feet.

"Evening, folks." Arrogant, two finger wave/salute.  **[Brendon Urie. 24 years old. Rating: RSYHU$I$^ &&$*L(&$^MUTNEYBXxbxhymu4tencm,]** 

Ryan had brightened considerably when Brendon had shown up, while everyone else groaned internally. Gerard almost had a heart attack as soon as he set eyes on the singer, the band's bassist giving him a quick look he assumed nobody had noticed. Frank noticed, but he didn't really care. At this point in the game, he did not care about anything that was not making out with Gerard.  

Ray Gun Jones then brought the group of wayward wanderers backstage to their imminent demise, and sat them all down on two worn out green couches. Everyone reluctantly took a seat except for Ray and Frank, who loitered in the back because they couldn't be bothered.

Patrick was wedged between his bored looking boyfriend and the arm of the couch, and he refused to look at anyone sitting on the other side of him. Brendon on the other hand, seemed to be staring at him. It was hard to tell with the glasses on. "Hello, Patrick."   

He only looked over for a moment, that's all he could stomach. "H-hi." Brendon grinned and Patrick pulled his hat down further to cover his eyes.

Mikey cleared his throat, looking nervously from Gerard, who had gone up to stand with Frank, to Pete. He got a funny little smile on his face when he looked at Pete, one that Brendon seemed not to like too much at all. "Hi Pete."

"Hey Mikey," Pete said dully, and the room collapsed back into silence when the bassist looked away again.

"Uh... B-Brendon?" Gerard started, but Mikey shook his head hard, eyes wide, and the younger boy went quiet. Brendon looked over at him, his smile fading. Ryan recaptured his attention as quickly as he could, much to Mikey's relief.

"So how's your tour been going so far? You guys are huge now, it's unbelievable!"

Brendon crossed his arms over his chest, smug smile returning when he stared Patrick down. "It's been a pretty wild experience actually, not really something you can put into words. It's been rather... Unusual, to say the least."

Gerard tried talking again, but Ryan drowned him out, starting to talk loudly to Brendon about some random chick they both used to know. Patrick distracted himself by watching the silent exchange between Mikey and Gerard, carried out only by facial expression.

Mikey himself didn't seem to be so much of a dick as Patrick had been expecting of Brendon's newest plaything. In fact, he seemed kind of sorry about the way his bandmates were treating his little brother. He didn't look all that much like Gerard, a little skinnier and a little nerdier, brown hair straightened flat and brown eyes that didn't seem to match perfectly in colour. He looked sheepish almost all the time, and kept fiddling nervously with his glasses, looking a bit worried.

Or maybe more than a bit, he looked like he wanted to leave this wretched room just as much as the rest of them. Gerard looked a bit distressed, his eyes darting over to Brendon, who had refocused cruelly on Patrick as Pete looked on disapprovingly, even if Ryan was still talking to him.  

"Are the three of you thinking of doing anything while you're in this city?" Ryan (sort of) wanted to know, and Brendon nodded. 

"Seeing the sights and whatnot. Nothing too exciting-"

"We've kissed the same boy," Gerard said incredulously. He was entirely too loud to be saying something of that nature, pointing at Brendon as Frank shushed him frantically, waving crazily to try and get his attention. Trying in vain to get him to stop this madness. No avail. There was a stunned silence, everyone seemed surprised except Mikey, who covered his face with his hands and groaned quietly, knocking his glasses askew in the process.

"Ray," Brendon said flatly, not even looking away from Patrick, and the curly-haired man in the corner sighed and cracked his knuckles. He gave Gerard an apologetic little smile before winding back his arm- and socking Gerard in the jaw from where he stood in the corner, sending the younger boy sprawling. When Mikey flinched, Brendon made an unsavory face, watching Frank run over to try and help his kind-of-boyfriend to his feet. Frank managed to pick Gerard up off the floor, and the younger boy looked totally shaken, eyes wide. It made Mikey grimace and stare miserably at anything that wasn't his brother. 

"Their drummer has a robo arm," Bob mumbled, scowling, but everyone else seemed to be focused on the fact that Ray had literally punched the red out of Gerard's hair, leaving it straight and white and leaving him shaking like California in an earthquake. He gave Mikey one last look as Frank ushered him out quickly as he could, Ray apologizing sheepishly after them. Brendon turned to Ryan and started talking again, and Pete jostled Patrick's arm. 

"Now let's leave before he decides he wants the sideburns knocked off _your_ face."

But Patrick was long gone, back in the mostly-repressed recesses of his own mind, the terrifying dark corners that he avoided at all costs. The place filled with Brendon. In a very different place where he was behind a drum set and Alex's hair was long and flowing and majestic. An evil place that he wanted no part of. 

And there was pain.

"So," Brendon said, recapturing the attention of the room after such a dramatic scenario. "Pete and Patrick, eh?"

Pete was not happy. At all. And the way he was sitting displayed it easily. He folded his arms across his chest, narrowing his brown eyes dangerously at the arrogant musician. "What of it?"

Brendon shrugged, kicking his boots up on the edge of the table. "You're cute together." He lowered his sunglasses a bit, sizing Pete up. "I'm trying to decide who you're trying to look like with all that eyeliner on, I can't decide."

Pete leaned forward menacingly. "Excuse me?"

"I'm not sure, what is it. A cry for help? Or a way of broadcasting yourself to the world. _Hello, people of America. I slit my wrists!_ " 

"What?" 

Mikey was staring at his boyfriend, slightly horrified, but as unable to do anything as ever. All he could do was try. And try he did. "Uh. Should I be fighting Patrick or uh. Something?" He added in whisper "I feel kind of _bad_ about it because he looks _so_ pathetic right now, I'm _so_ sorry." 

"No, you forget about Patrick for a fucking second," Pete snarled, and he stood up, Brendon mirroring his movements perfectly. "Maybe I should knock your pretty little teeth in, how about that?"

"I'd like to see you try."

"Uh. Oh, look at the time, Alex we have something very important to do," Bob said, grabbing his friend's arm. Only Ryan and Patrick noticed them leaving, and only Patrick cared at all, Ryan was engrossed in the drama of the scene in front of him. Pete and Brendon were having the staredown of the century, and the tension between them was filling the room and making it hard to breathe or even think straight. Patrick pulled weakly at Pete's sleeve and he backed down. He looked desperately at Miky, who seemed unsure about how to proceed. 

"Okay uh. I should fight you or something. Unless you don't want to." Patrick scratched up under his hat, and nodded in agreement.

"Anything to get out of here," Patrick said, getting to his feet. And then he wasn't on his feet- he was crashing through the wall, through drywall and brick, hitting the bricks out in the alley on the outside. here was a harsh impact, and he fell to the ground, stunned. What the fuck. 

Mikey sighed and crawled through the hole he'd created as Ryan gawked. Brendon and Pete seemed unimpressed, looking through at him. Patrick stared hard at Mikey, trying to make sense of the situation. "Are you a vegan?"

"Psychic." Mikey said, and he helped Patrick to his feet, smiling apologetically. He looked over his shoulder for a moment, but Pete and Brendon had returned to their epic staredown and argument, so he was safe to be polite again. "Had to make a scene, I'm sorry about that."

"I understand," Patrick mumbled, nodding once. 

"I'll let you go home now-" Mikey watched Patrick nod slowly before he was even done saying what he needed to say, watching him stumble like a drunk out of the dark alley, mumbling to himself as he went, totally lost in his own memories.

 

 

 "I'm sorry about that," Mikey muttered, pushing hi hand through his perfect hair as Pete sauntered out into the alley with his hands jammed in his hoodie pockets, looking livid.

"The drummer convinced him to back down. You keep company with a lot of volatile people, Way," Pete snarled, sitting down on the dirty ground beside the drainpipe and running his hands through his hair angrily. Mikey smiled a bit and sat next to him. It had started to rain but he was still here, and it didn't look like either him or the rain were going to disappear anytime soon. Pete pulled his hood up, nearly obscuring his face entirely.

"Do you count as a volatile person?" Mikey wondered absently as he looked up at the sky, and Pete looked sideways at him, smirking and nodding. He seemed moderately amused by the boy next to him. 

"Guess I do. I'm here to give something back to you." He dug under the hem of his hoodie while Mikey looked on, removing the ray gun from his waistband and holding it out. "Your brother wants me dead."

"I told him these were foor emergencies only...." He watched as Mikey took it back, smiling apologetically at his friend as he lay it down on his lap, and he had to smile a little bit because he was seeing little traces of the silly boy with awkward knees that he'd known a while ago, before he'd gone off to be a big shot.

Mikey was more concerned about the ray gun incident. Emergencies, pfft. Why had he even tried setting rules for the ray gun at all? Of course Gerard hadn't listened, he was too stubborn for that half the time. Having his ray gun again made Mikey a little nostalgic though, a little bit homesick. "I wish I could go home."

"Soon," Pete said, leaning his head back against the wall and looking up too, letting the rain fall on his face. Despite himself, he was thinking of Patrick. Patrick and Brendon and- no. He shoved those images out of his mind and thought of something nicer- him and Mikey way back when. There. "Soon."

They stayed like that for a while, and neither of them minded it at all.

 

 

_**[Patrick Stump, first year of college. Temper: Naive as ever. Hair: Mostly sideburns]**  Patrick  was pretty sure he'd never seen such a pretty boy before in his life, standing in the doorway of the room Ryan Ross shared with this... boy._

_**[Brendon Urie, also first year of college. Temper: Somewhat annoyed. Hair: Baroque Pop]** "Forget about it Ryan, I don't want to go out." The boy was sitting in front of an ancient computer, fully engrossed in it. He had on an oversized yellow hoodie and track pants, (classy) and he was deadly focused on whatever was on the screen and not his roommate, shoving popcorn into his mouth. Upon closer inspection, Patrick could see that he was watching the Beauty and the Beast. Well, that was certainly more important than stupid teenager parties, Patrick really wished he could join him without it being too weird. Before anything could happpen though, Patrick was ushered out into the hallway._

_**[Ryan Ross, also also first year college. Temper: Very annoyed. Hair: Quite emo.]** "My roommate is so weird, I swear."_

Where was Pete? Patrick was reminiscing again, and it was horrible, and he needed it to stop. Get home, get back to Andy. Andy can help.

_"You're not so bad," Brendon said with a smile that made Patrick feel all warm inside, made his face heat up until Brendon noticed and giggled like a little girl. "Ryan keeps saying you're really super awkward, but I don't see it."_

_"Ryan doesn't like me," Patrick said, with an awkward smile of his own that made Brendon laugh even harder._

_"Well, rest assured, I do!"_

Patrick had to sit down before he fell down. There was no stopping the torrent of memories anymore, maddening as it was. He'd have to suffer through.

_"You're a genius, you know that? I've never heard music like yours." Patrick was grinning like a fool, grabbing Brendon's shoulders anf pulling Brendon a little closer gently. Brendon had gone bright red, and despite his smile, he wouldn't look at Patrick. He was slightly embarrassed. Not unused to the statement, but embarrassed all the same._

_"Oh shut uuuuup..."_

_"Musical geeeniuuuus..."_   _Patrick leaned in a bit._

"DAMMIT."

_"Are you dating Brendon?" Ryan squinted down at Patrick from his doorway. He did not seem pleased to see Patrick here, Patrick, who had shown up at their dorm again. For the fiftieth time this week, at least. ow Ryan was just suspicious. Patrick had started to spend a lot of time there, in their dorm room, usually when Ryan was out. But the question and Ryan's careful scrutiny had him floundering._

_"Uh. I guess? I mean..."_

"SNAP OUT OF IT, UGH."

_"I love you."_

Patrick smacked himself in the forehead and stood up, hissing. Anything but this one, nope. 

_"Sorry, forget I said anything."_

 

 

"Andy has a new boyfriend," Patrick explained when Pete opened the door, looking a bit sleepy. Patrick looked cold and sad and he was absolutely drenched. He'd gootten drenched while walking home, feeling as miserable as the weather. He learned the hard way that Andy had a new object of affection, by arriving home after a fifteen minute walk in the dark and the rain and walking in on-

Don't even think abouot it, it was kind of horrifying. Patrick rubbed his eyes and took his glasses ff to defog them, sighin heavily. "I think the guy used to date Joe but I don't even remember anymore."

Pete pulled his boyfriend inside and told him to stand on the rug while he fetched a towel. Patrick did as he was told and Pete returned drying Patrick off. The towel was fluffy and nice and warm, and Patrick was grateful.

"You're soaked," Pete mumbled, and Patrick didn't respond so he just sighed and draped the towel over his shoulder, pulling Patrick's shirt over his head. "Are you okay?"

Patrick still didn't say anything, didn't even make a face. The corners of his mouth twitched down but that was about all he was getting, so Pete just gave him a quick kiss and dried him off a little more before leading him upstairs. They didn't really talk, they just went up to bed and Pete fell asleep and Patrick got up at the crack of stupid and went home, back into the comfort of Andy in a good mood.

"I never liked him," Andy said when he was told abut Brendon, handing Patrick a donut. Patrcik didn't ask where he'd gotten it from, he probably didn't want to know. But it was sweet and kind of really delicious, and it made him feel a bit better about leaving Pete alone. "He's a bitch and I hate him. Think of something nice, like how we met."  

"You mean that we met in class when you followed me around for three days and eventually showed up at my house?"

"Yup! Then we got drunk and we-"

"SAY. NOTHING."

 

 

"You scheduled an epic battle to the death without my consent? Bob that's so not cool," Patrick groaned. He'd been rudely awoken from his boredom nap this afternoon and dragged back out into the rain. So now he had to see Brendon's face too soon and too early in the afternoon, and that was ruining him a little bit. Patrick stood silently under the umbrella he was sharing with Pete until his feet were completely wet, the rain having soaked through his shoes. He did not want to be at Wal-Mart this early, he did not want to be at Wal-Mart ever. This was going to suck and he was probably going to die. "And you brought everyone to watch too?"

"We came on our own accord to watch you not succeed," Alex said plainly, which sent Ryan into a fit of snickering. "But we're totally here for you, yeah."

Bendon cleared his throat and everyone looked at him, except Andy and Pete, who glared daggers and made faces that Patrick would probably enjoy if he wasn't fearing for his life. "Listen, all you have to do is get to the other end of the store if you can. To make it fair, no psychic powers, okay?" Mikey nodded.

"And what's Patrick's handicap?" Pete wated to know, crossing his arms over his chest. His resentment was hardly contained at this point, and nobody really seemed to care except Mikey, who had the decency to look a little sheepish on his boyfriend's behalf. 

"He's pathetic and just looking at me is enough to shut him down, that's his handicap." Brendon shrugged and Pete ground his teeth.

Andy moved closer to Patrick and Pete to ensure Brendon's survival, (even if he wished for the singer's death as much as the other two did), pulling them both into an awkward football huddle that didn't work well because of the umbrellas. "He is such a total dick I can't stand him."

"Andy I'd kiss you right now if I wasn't so aware of the repercussions," Pete snarled, looking over Andy's shoulder at a smug-smiling Brendon, who gave a little two-finger wave/salute. Andy had to grab Pete's shoulder and hold on tight to keep him from trying for Brendon's life. Patrick was too out of it to properly enjoy their banter. "Okay, focus. Strategies."

"My life is flashing before my eyes again," Patrick whispered, and Andy patted his face gently.

"It's okay, Trick, you just gotta burn his fucking heart out and you'll be okay." Pete nodded his agreement and Patrick sighed, exasperated.

"I don't want to burn his heart out!"

"Well you're going to." Pete patted Patrick's silly hat and kissed him on the forehead before Andy sent him stumbling out into the rain with a shove.

"MAKE ME PROUD PATRICK," Andy yelled as Patrick lined up beside Mikey, who looked over and wished him luck with an awkward smile. Before Patrick could retaliate, Brendon started the countdown and Mikey's smile melted, replace by a determined scowl.

Patrick knew he was doomed. 

"THREE."

 _Goodbye Pete. You're the best and I'll miss you in the afterlife. So long Andy, I really was yours forever and I'm not sure how I feel about that._  

"TWO."

_It's been fun guys. Except Frank, you're weird. Watching you make out with my ex is weird._

"ONE."

_Bob I never returned the DVDs you let me rent on your account I'm sorry._

"GO!"

The two of them broke off running, pelting down the rain-soaked tarmac to the doors. Mikey was faster though, and soon Patrick was trailing behind, but he figured that wasn't that bad because he could live a few seconds more. Because inside the store was hell.

Inside Wal-Mart, it smelled like plastic, the stench hitting Patrick like a wall as soon as he ran through the automatic doors and skidded along the white linoleum, almost crashing into a pyramid of bottles of Coke. Mikey was screaming bloody murder at the sight of a man in white calf-high socks and flip-flops with a tie dye shirt, and Patrick had to agree that is was pretty gruesome, and looked away before he could lose too much hope in the human race. 

There was just too much _stuff_ , bins and stacks and pyramids and shelves of cheap plastic things that were gleaming slightly in the harsh fluorescent lighting that made Patrick feel dizzy. He pulled his hat down in an attempt to dull the light, but it did little to help. 

Mikey wasn't doing as well. He was disoriented by the lights. The world around him was fading fast as he found himself in the aisle of the worst torture he'd ever had to endure. Shelves upon shelves of scented candles envelopped him and it was too much. Too much scent, too many colours, too many _savings_. It was _unbearable!_

Mikey roared and threw his hands out, toppling the entire rack of candles with a ferocious telekinetic blast that sprayed glass and fruity scent everywhere, worsening the situation. He was practically panting now, hunched over with his eyes wide and his teeth bared, looking like an animal.

Patrick had found a flowery bike helmet and a pair of red shutter shades for protection, his hat stuffed clumsily in his back pocket. He'd been subject to two women in cat sweaters and a very bad perm and oh god. The horrors. He'd found naught but a pool noodle to defend himself against Mikey, who seemed to be losing his mind. 

"YOU CAN'T WEAR PLAID ON PLAID," he screamed at a fat young child who walked by, behind his mother in an infinitely terrible pink poodle sweater. Mikey fell to his knees, tearing at his hair- this was too much. Too much cheap plastic and terrible clothing for him to stand. He couldn't deal anymore. "Shit, I'm sorry Gee-" 

He struggled to his feet, tears streaming down his face- his eyes were burning so badly, jesus. He swiped them away, untucking the ray gun from his waistband. He had to end this, he had to. This was cruel and unusual punishment and he needed it to end. "PATRICK, C'MERE." 

Patrick was trying to stay on his feet- god not the shirt with the American flag on it, please no. No don't wear mismatched socks- shit. Mikey couldn't even make it over, he veered sideways into a shelf of soup cans and collapsed on his back, hissing. "I'm sorryyyy..."

_Mikey held out the yellow gun to his younger brother, smiling a bit at the look on his face. The ear-to-ear grin Gerard was displaying was all the thanks he needed. "This is for you, Gee. It's called Party Poison, it's only for emergencies. Take care of it until I come back?"_

_"I will!" Gerard grinned and bounced up and down and made Mikey wonder if he should be giving him weapons._

Mikey struggled to sit up, only to fall back again, blasts of telekinetic energy rising, unbidden, through is body. "Shit..."

_"Come on, he's evil!"_

_"You're not much better if you're asking me to do this, Ray!"_

_"Don't be like that..."_

That was it. Mikey screamed. He screamed and screamed and the walls trembled and the floor shook and everything came tumbling down. Wal-Mart literally exploded, debris bouncing off the umbrellas of stunned spectators who had been out there for all of six minutes.

At least the rain had stopped.

Mikey shoved a ceiling beam off him, waving dust away. He gave a sheepish smile, squinting through the white dust smudges on his glasses and scrunching up his nose.

"Sorry," he muttered.  


	6. Screw the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brendon is a really big issue.

Band practice helped clear Patrick's head a little bit. 

Patrick enjoyed playing his bass, he enjoyed listening to Alex sing, and he liked listening to Bob play the drums because they were both quite good and together they were pretty mediocre. Even if Frank wasn't paying attention, Pete seemed kind of interested. Okay, maybe not really. More interested than Frank, at least, he seemed to be actually listening. Alex stopped every once in a while to ensure that they weren't the worst band on the planet and Pete assured him that they weren't, which was the only thing you could do with an Alex in panic mode.

They practiced until Patrick felt moderately at peace, and Pete chatted idly about last night's happenings to Frank, and the events that were supposed to happen tonight. Brendon had asked (or demanded, that sounded a little more like Brendon) for everyone to meet with them again so they could get this stupid thing over and done with, but Pete had decided to do everything in his power to keep Patrick from going.

"Are you guys going to the thing tonight?" Patrick wanted to know, fiddling around with his bass as Alex adjusted the mic for the thousandth time.

"Busy," Alex sighed, and Patrick looked over at Bob, who shook his head.

"I have a date, I don't want to watch you get your ass kicked."

"You have a date? Who with, a cult of Satan worshippers?" Alex's comment sent Frank into a giggle fit that only intensified when Patrick added input.

"A date with your bunny slippers and a bad movie?" Patrick chimed in, and Bob gave them both a dull look, unamused.

"Did it actually occur to either of you that maybe, just maybe, someone would be able to stand me long enough to take me on an actual date?"

The resulting silence was eerie and total. Nobody had actually figured Bob would ever have a date ever because, well. He was _Bob_. He never even showed any interest in anyone. Patrick and Alex looked at each other quickly, shared a silent _uh-oh_ , and forced up smiles for Bob's sake. Bob is not very impressed. 

"Just play the fucking set again you assholes," Bob growled.

 

 

That night, Patrick did not go to the thing. Pete spent the entire walk back from Alex's house talking him out of it. It had taken an unusual amount of persuading Patrick, for the amount he'd proven he couldn't stand to be in the company of Ray Gun Jones, or, more specifically, Brendon. Eventually, Patrick had to see the sense behind ditching a pointless battle with a nice guy who didn't even want to fight him because his ex-boyfriend said he should. Pete was happy to save them from a night full of pointless aggrivation.

So instead, they just took the train back to Pete's house because now they were both convinced that not showing up would piss off Brendon, and that was good. Neither was going to pass up the chance to piss off Brendon, and being at Pete's house was much nicer than being thrown around by an apologetic Mikey, Patrick was certain. 

And still, it was terrible. Apparently things hadn't actually gotten any better, because they hadn't even gotten Patrick's pants off before he needed to stop, and the both of them just lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

"You know, I think I'm more turned on by the idea of wrapping my hands around Brendon's throat than I am by you right now," Pete said, and at least he was _honest_ about it. Patrick seemed to be having the opposite problem, he was not really minding the idea of being wrapped around Brendon. They lay there for a while until Pete growled and kicked the sheets off, going and turning on the light. 

"This is stupid," he told Patrick, who was still trying to purge those terrible thoughts from his mind. He sat back down on the bed, crossing his arms. "Okay, so I was dating Zack, woohoo, excitement, but then Mikey showed up." Patrick pretended he was only _imagining_ the fondness in Pete's voice. It was blatantly obvious, and a little upsetting.

"Uh... Yeah, it didn't last too long, him and his brother had to go on some epic spiritual quest in the desert and be vigilantes or something. But he came back." Pete leaned his chin on a hand, sighing, smiling a little. "He was significantly less emo after that, blonde and colourful, and he was really nice. He still is, pretty much. I guess it's Brendon who's got him in all that eyeliner again."

Patrick was a bit disgruntled about the fact that _Gerard_ went on a spiritual quest in the desert to be a vigilante, never mind his brother. He shook it off quickly though, sitting up. "Do you want to hear about me and Brendon then?"

"No, no, no!" Pete fell back, over Patrick's lap. "I hate him too much, tell me about someone else- tell me about Bob."

"Bob? I dated Bob?"

"You dated Bob."

"I dated Bob," Patrick mumbled, searching through memories to find it. "Yeah I did, um. He saved me. I mean we were in the same class and uh. Kidnapping and... Why are you so hung up on Bob again?"

Pete got off Patrick and shrugged, going back to his side of the bed and getting comfortable. "I like Bob."

 

 

Dinner was strained. Again. Dinner had been strained for a while, Brendon and Mikey were the only ones ever talking, usually, unless they had someone else with them, a lesser band or an interviewer. Ray more often than not just sat there uncomfortably, responding in monosyllables when Mikey tried to entice him into conversing.

Mikey didn't really blame him, dinner was nothing but eating and kissing and small talk to fill the void of silence that occured when no kissing was happening, and Ray just had to sit there and watch it and wait for Mikey to work up the courage to actually break up with Brendon. The only break they ever got was when Brendon got up to go somewhere quickly, Mikey wasn't payng attention to where, probably to fix his eyeliner or something.

Ray was not all that happy with him. At all. Mikey deflected the look he was getting with sheepish apologies. "I'm sorry, it's just... harrrrrd..."

"However hard it is, he'll punch you harder when he finds out," Ray pointed out, staring at his plate. Mikey sighed miserably, leaning his forehead on the table, knocking his glasses askew. Ray patted his head fondly, smiling a little bit, and Mikey looked up, fixing his glasses. "You really need to do this."

"I know," Mikey said and Ray kissed him, and they sat there in silence until Brendon came back. 

Yeah, life was suffering.

 

 

"GUYS I GOT A HAIRCUT."

Patrick seemed to be the only one caring about the haircut. Like, wow, finally, it had only been _weeks_ and he was getting as tired of complaining about it as everyone else was hearing about it. So, Pete had cut his hair for him. It was barely even shorter, stopping under his ears instead of his shoulders, it wasn't really that big of a deal. But it had been fun. Patrick felt like it was a very coupley thing to do, and it made him happy.

Alex and Bob seemed to have other worries at the moment, because Alex was on another of his freak outs, looking as high strung as a rabbit on cocaine as he strummed away on his guitar. Bob looked up at Atrick from behind the drums, unimpressed as ever. "That's a haircut?"

"It's a haircut," Patrick assured them both, picking up his bass to tune it. "For the show."

"THE SHOW," Alex cried in anguish, and Bob patted him awkwardly on the back as he covered his face with his hands and groaned like he was dying. "WE'RE NOT DOING THE SHOW, ARE WE?" 

"War flashbacks," Patrick said solemnly, and Bob gave him a puzzled look. 

"War flashbacks?"

"Pet Salamander, the reason Patrick plays bass," Alex mumbled, burying his face into a concerned Bob's shoulder. Bob patted his hair awkwardly and looked over at Patrick, who was distant.

"You probably don't wanna know," Patrick said. 

 

 

That night began not so well, and found Alex Gaskarth in the bathroom throwing up and Patrick freaking out internally for a plethora of reasons. He was so frazzled that his shoes weren't done up properly and he'd put his shirt on backwards.

The lights of the venue were blaring, the music too loud and there were too many people, it was hard not to panic in here tonight. Patrick ignored everyone he came across, brushing off Ryan, a couple of teenaged schoolboys, and almost brushing off Andy. Andy was not as easy to ignore though.

"You dick, you're supposed to address us properly!" **[Andrew Hurley. Roommate with vegan powers. Probably should be the protagonist.]**

"Oh leave him alone. Hey, Patrick." **[Joseph Trohman. Brother-in-training. Not afraid of drinking.]**

"Hi..." **[Spencer Smith. Uh... ??? ?? ? ?]**

The two of them were sitting with Andy, who was not drinking, of course. Joe's hair looked crazier than usual, and Spencer looked slightly uncomfortable now that Patrick was there. "Why are you guys here so early?" Patrick wanted to know, and Joe shrugged. 

"We wanted to be supportive or whatever. And talk about how much we hate Brendon, we've been talking about that."

"Yes, yes we have," Andy said proudly, and somehow that made Patrick feel the tiniest bit better. "So, is your show going to rock our socks off, Patrick? It better. I don't want to be wearing socks at the end of this."

"It'll rock everyone's socks off, Andy," Patrick assured as he trudged off. But he wasn't even sure anymore. It was too hot in the venue, too many people, too little space, but it still didn't take him very long to find Pete being assaulted by Jon and Dallon. They were all tucked up in the back corner, and Pete did not look pleased.

"So you dated him?" **[Dallon Weekes. A random guy. Kind of out of it.]** Dallon sounded totally astonished, and Pete tried to keep his violent urges down to a minimum.

"Oh yeah? I know him." **[Jon Walker. Also a random guy. Knows who he is. Also knows everyone else. Including you.]**

"Can we not talk about this?" Pete wanted to know, but Dallon and Jon seemed pretty intent on talking about it, apparently. "Where are you even getting your information?"  

"Ryan told me. He heard it from Brendon, who was on tour as you might know."

"Oh of course. _Brendon._ " Pete spat the name as one might spit the title of a boring book or a teacher you hate. Patrick swooped in and saved the day before anyone could say anything else that would set Pete off, hurrying over and grabbing Pete's arm. 

"We have to go do the thing," he said, and Dallon waved and screamed "BYYYYE."

"I hate them," Pete decided, and Patrick sighed and took his hand, pulling him away from the other two. He was certain at this point that there was no way he'd calm himself or Pete down on his own, so he opted to go to the bar. He didn't drink usually, but he wasn't as strict as Andy about it. Nobody was as strict about it than Andy.

Patrick's hand was shaking as he gulped down his drink- oh god, burning. Pete looked concerned, pulling him away from the bar and rubbing his back as he coughed, guiding him over to Bob, who would keep him in line if he decided to do anything stupid, like try to talk to Brendon. Alex appeared to have calmed down a bit, and was standing, oggling Bob's party of travellers. Or the messy haired one with the big nose in particular, who seemed not to be paying him much attention. 

**[Rian Dawson. Bob's co-worker and possible drummer love interest?? ?? ? Scratch that last bit.]**

**[Jack Barakat. Rian's roommate. Good taste in music?? ? ?]**

"Did you come see these assholes twice in a row?" Pete grumbled, and Rian raised an eyebrow.

"No, they came to see _us_. Or at least Rian did. Jack's made it clear he's here for the bassist," Bob explained, and Jack gave a nod and a thumbs up that forced Alex's eyes to the floor.

"I used to date him," Pete said quietly, and Patrick decided to leave before that conversation could get any more unbearable. But Bob was still there, and Pete liked Bob, so he stayed in. "How was that date then?"

Bob smiled at the floor and Rian said "Well, I think it was pretty good." 

 

 

Patrick walked out into the alley as the Sophisticuffs started playing again, but not even their desperately happy music could lighten his mood. He felt angry, agitated, like he needed to do something but he wasn't sure what it was. It was dark out, and nippy, and that helped him focus a bit more, helped clear his head a little bit. But he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be focusing on. He sat down, sighing heavily, wishing the world would stop so he could sort everything out.

He heard Brendon come out too, felt him sit down next to him, felt him radiating heat. But he refused to look, pulling his hat down over his eyes and biting his bottom lip to keep quiet. 

"Hi Patrick." Brendon sounded as exhausted as Patrick felt, and Patrick looked up, alarmed. But Brendon was fiddling with the sleeves of his expensive-looking black suit and frowning. 

"Hi Brendon," Patrick said, letting his eyes wander back to the dirty ground. He kept his hands on the brim of his hat, making sure he couldn't see Brendon. It felt kind of childish, but oh well. 

"I had an idea. Do you want to talk like normal people instead of freaking out at the sound of my voice?"

Patrick lowered his hands and glared hard at the other man, trying not to cringe and look away. Brendon remained focused on his sleeve, eyebrows drawn in concentration. Patrick calmed down a little, his scowl fading back to a miserable frown. "You know I would if I could. How can I? Look at you!"

Patrick was still wearing the same shirt he's been wearing yesterday, and it was on backwards. Brendon was fully decked out in a black suit and tie that seemed kind of impractical for performing in. His shoes were shiny and leather, his hair was absolutely perfect, and his watch was expensive. He was about as far out of Patrick's league as one could go.

And yet...

Brendon laughed, seeming a bit embarrassed about it. He seemed pretty human now, and Patrick was having mixed feelings about it. He could totally deal with Brendon acting like a dick, but if he was going to be nice... "Yeah, the clothes are stupid I guess. I'm just out here getting some air before the show starts, y'know? Just quickly-"

"Maybe you should go inside," Patrick said, steeling his voice to keep it from wobbling out of control. Brendon gave him a surprised look and he softened his tone a bit, cringing. "Sorry, sorry, it's just... Getting late. You should do that. Go inside or whatever."  

"So you _don't_ want to talk like normal people?" Patrick wished Brendon would stop looking at him, he was starting to feel sick with anxiety. He wasn't liking this, not one bit. He felt bad for snapping, he should _not_ feel bad for snapping. There was a dull aching in his chest that he wasn't fond of, an his stomach was twisting itself into knots. This was bad. 

"No, no I..." He worked up the courage and met Brendon's gaze, frowning. " _Bren_... Bren, seriously... Did we _ever_ talk like normal people?"

It took a moment for that name to register with Brendon, who smiled faintly, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Patrick's temple, leaving Patrick in shock and maybe in cardiac arrest when Brendon stood up. "That's not going to happen again," he said quietly, and the door closed, and Patrick was left in darkness. 

He sat there for a while until he was interrupted by- who else? Gerard, who scooted over from the mouth of the alley, where he'd been sitting the entire time, unnoticed. "O-oh, hi," Patrick managed to choke out, and Gerard grinned like an idiot, something that made Patrick cringe with guilt again. "Where's Frank?"

Gerard's smile died a bit, and he ran a hand hrough his white hair, chuckling nervously. He looked as not-okay as Patrick felt. "It's uh. Complicated, I guess. I've been kind of weird these past few weeks..."

"Yeah? Me too." Patrick looked over at him and Gerard looked back, bottom lip caught between his teeth shyly, eyes wide and hopeful. 

"I mean... I'm not happy, not yet, but I'm dealing with it... Mikey's been helping but still..." Patrick tried not to flinch at the name. "I'm glad I'm here now, that I'm not naive. I can't go back to how I was before."

Apologies were probably in order. Patrick licked his lips nervously, thinking of something to say, but he was running his mouth before he even had anything planned. "If it was that bad, I'm sorry- hell, I _know_ I wasn't treating you right, and I know I was terrible... I didn't even stand up for you when Brendon was-" He was cut off abruptly when Gerard side-tackle-hugged him, squeezing him hard. He was warm, but that was about the only thing Patrick liked about the contact.   

"Does this mean we can get back together? Because I'm not really dating Frank, I just kind of wanted to make you jealous... But that didn't work, obviously." Patrick pushed Gerard away gently and put his hands on the younger boy's shoulders to keep him at bay. 

"I have to go get ready for the show, okay?"

Gerard looked so crestfallen that Patrick wanted to die momentarily. He didn't need this right now, it was doing nothing but making him feel like the worst person on the planet. "Okay," was all Gerard said, forcing up a smile and standing up. "Okay, I'll go.... Uh. Yeah, Patrick?"

"...Yes?"

"I still totally love you," Gerard said quietly, and he shoved his hands in his jean pockets and walked off.

 

 

Pete found himself in the company of Bob, Jack, Alex and Rian, since he had been left unceremoniously by his own boyfriend. But that was perfectly fine because Bob was excellent company, Rian was quite nice and Alex still hadn't said anything, he was just staring at Jack. Pete was actually enjoying himself now, standing with Bob as the Sophisticuffs played everyone into a flowery stupor. He didn't even have to worry about Brendon or Patrick or Brendon and Patrick.

He wasn't stupid though, he caught every look Bob set Rian's way, every time Rian smirked and Bob looked down at the floor. It was too funny.

"High school, yeah." Bob rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink. "I remember that. Patrick got kidnapped by a rival boy and chained on the school roof and I had to save him and then we started dating. Sorry if that's not interesting enough for you." 

"That's it?" Pete was amused, still, raising an eyebrow. Bob shrugged. 

"I moved back here a year ago. He's pretty much the same, except not. Y'know. Brendon."

"I hate that guy." Pete's hands clenched and his anger returned full-force, and okay, maybe it was time for another drink. For a moment, he was too distracted to pay attention, but everyone, even Alex, seemed to be totally focused on something else.

It was two thirds of Ray Gun Jones, the two thirds that weren't Brendon, and it was somewhat disturbing. Pete made a face because you don't really ever want to see your ex-boyfriend making out with the drummer of their band, even if he does have amazing hair. He felt kind of happy for Mikey in the moment, but still, _eugh_. 

"I'm not drunk enough for this yet," said Jack, and Pete couldn't agree more. He excused himself, (which really wasn't necessary because Bob was kissing Rian goodbye and dragging Alex backstage now) and went to the bar again, ordering another drink to get the image of Mikey Way and Ray Toro kissing out of his head.

But it was not to be. He was never to get any peace.

"Sorry for being such a dick this weekend." Brendon Urie came up by Pete's elbow, making him clench his teeth and his hands all over again and think really hard about nice things to keep from knocking Brendon's pretty teeth in. He was standing there in a mauve-coloured suit and fancy shoes and a smirk that Pete hated. There was nothing about Brendon that wasn't terrible in that moment. "I mean, we're not so different, are we, Pete? Apparently we have the same taste in men, anyways." His smirk turned into a cocky grin, and he started running his finger around the rim of an empty martini glass on the counter. "We both like interesting boys- and then there's Patrick."

"Are you saying he's not interesting?" Pete downed his drink and slammed the glass down on the counter, asking for another. The burning helped him focus his anger, to quell it a little bit. Brendon just cut eyes at him, his eyebrows tilting up. 

"Take it as you like, Petey, I only came here to chat. Next topic. We played a show at the Revenge Theatre a couple weeks back and I heard you knew of it? Wow, way to stay under the radar, right? Everyone knows who you are, Pete." He took in Pete's horrified expression and laughed, but Pete downed his drink and scowled, angry at himself for giving him any kind of reaction at all. "Here, they'd believe you. Big shot city boy. Of course he belongs to _Gabe_."

"I don't know who you think you're talking to, and I sure as fucking hell don't know what you're talking about, but I am this close to kicking your bitch ass back to whence you came. Do you want to fight?" Pete stepped back from the bar and rummaged through his messenger bag, producing a ridiculous looking pink and blue neon-coloured hammer from his bag. As weird as it looked, the expression on Brendon's face was priceless.

**[Warhammer of Zillyhoo. +2 against singers.]**

"Peter, isn't this a bit unfair? One hit with that and my head is jam."

"That's the point," Pete snarled, and brought the hammer down. Brendon met the force with a high kick that sent both of them stumblng backwards and madder than they'd been at first. The crowd had clued in now, giving them a wide berth and someone announced " _YO_. _BRENDON'S FIGHTING SOME HAMMER GUY. GET HIM, BRENDON._ " The rest of the crowd chimed in, starting to buzz with excitement at the impending battle. _Get him Brendon! Kick him where it hurts! We love you Brendon! You two should make out!_

"WHY ARE YOU ROOTING FOR HIM. HE'S A DICK," Pete screamed at them, and the only response he got was _YOU'RE A HUGE DICK._ Imaginitive much?

"Pete, darling, I'm famous." _AND ATTRACTIVE._ "And you're trying to kill me with a giant, ridiculous hammer." _YOUR HAMMER SUCKS._

Pete hesitated, looking down at his multicoloured hammer and sighing he was quite fond of his hammer. "I guess it is sort of ridiculous-"

"BREAK HIS FUCKING FACE, PETE." It was Andy, accompanied by a quieter " **WOO** " from Joe. Pete looked back at them and grinned, and Andy gave him a thumbs up. He felt a lot more confident in his abilities. Maybe he _would_ break Brendon's fucking face. Two spotlights fell on the two combattants and the crowd went wild.  

"Excuse me?" Brendon looked back at Andy and Joe, livid, and Pete whacked him with the hammer, sending him flying to the opposite wall. Brendon smacked into it, leaving an impressive crack. On his descent, his coat got stuck on a protruding nail, so he had to shrug it off. He slid down, hissing until his feet touched the floor again. "I'LL SEND YOU BACK TO GABE IN A THOUSAND PIECES YOU SLUT." He started running at Pete, who tightened his grip on his warhammer and set his jaw, prepared. Brendon kicked high and Pete ducked low. "You make me sick, pretending to be so innocent and nice, but I know what you're really like!"

"DON'T SWEAT IT PETE," Andy hollered, cupping his hands over his mouth to scream louder. "HE'S ALL TALK, HE'S NOTHING BUT A PRETTY FACE."

Brendon whirled on Andy again, prepared to scream something back in outrage, and Pete took advantage of the situation, slamming his hammer into Brendon's backside. It sent him sprawling. "HE'S EASILY DISTRACTED. HE'S NOT VERY BRIGHT, YOU SEE."

Pete was genuinely enjoying this now that he was being backed up by his friend of mutual hate, and he grinned, looking kind of really evil. "Alright. Thank you, Andy," he muttered, raising his hammer high over his head and walking towards Brendon. Brendon was back on his feet. "HE'S ONLY GOT A TINY BRAIN, PETE-"

Brendon kicked him, hard, sent him flying. Pete hit the ceiling, dropped his hammer, and smashed back into the ground, hard. The floor cracked underneath him. Drywall dust was everywhere, shrapnel from the floor was digging into his back. He wasn't bleeding yet though. "Uh. Ow?"

"Woah, Petey, this thing is kind of heavy." Brendon lifted the ridiculous warhammer with ease. "I'm mildly impressed! I hope your boyfriends like dust, because that's what you're gonna be!" He raised the hammer over his head-

Someone came right out of the crowd. Just walked right out and socked Brendon in the face. Brendon was surprised, and he staggered back, dropping the hammer and clutching at his jaw. Gerard shook his hand out, making a face. "Okay, you can keep fighting now, I just really wanted to do that." 

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" Brendon demanded, and Pete scrambled to his feet. 

"You're dating my brother and you don't even know who I am? That's-"

"WE ARE ARMA ANGELUS," Bob screeched from the stage, and the room went silent. "WE'RE HERE TO BLOW YOUR FUCKING BRAINS OUT AND STUFF. 

**[Alex Gaskarth. Snazzy suit.] [Bob Bryar. Black Parade.] [Patrick Stump. Classic like a little black dress. Will be faded soon.]**

Brendon made a strangled choking noise and looked away. Gerard made a face. "What the fuck are they wearing? Actually Bob's outfit looks okay-"

Brendon had picked up the hammer and lifted it over his head once more, positioning it over Gerard and Pete, and Patrick felt panicky, he knew he had to do something, he needed to intercept. 

This was so not the time for an inconvenient flashback. 

 

 

_Hi uh... Brendon. Are you there? Come on, pick up the phone. I was uh... I was just thinking about you, I thought I'd try calling or something. But uh... Yeah, okay. Call me back when you get the chance or whatever._

_Patrick broke off and turned his head to the side, frowning. "Who was that?"_

_Brendon didn't respond, just tried to kiss him again. When it didn't work, he sighed and leaned his head down on Patrick's bare chest. "He's a guy. Calls sometimes."_

_"...Are you cheating on me?"_

**_"Get out of my life, Patrick."_ **

 

He was dropping his bass on the stage before he even realized what he was doing, hopping off the stage and running at Brendon as fast as he could. Before Pete and Gerard could be totally obliterated by the silly warhammer, Patrick skidded to a halt behind Brendon, stroking his hand down the singer's back. 

The result was instant. Brendon dropped like a ton of bricks, sighing happily, covering his red face with both hands, letting the hammer fall. He curled up on the floor, looking totally bissful. "I'd like it if you didn't ask me anything," Patrick said quietly, helping Pete to his feet. "Are you okay, Gerard?"

"He didn't do anything to me?" 

Brendon was picking himself up off the floor, waiting for the blush to leave his face. God, how _embarrassing_. "You'll fucking pay for this," he snarled, and Pete rolled his eyes. "Mikey's going to kill you for this, he's going to kill all of you!" 

"Last time I saw Mikey he was kissing Ray," Gerard whispered to Pete, who nodded. 

"He's cheating on you with your drummer, you stupid floozy. I'll give you some time to take that in, since you seem kind of slow on the uptake."

"He'd never do that. He probably didn't even date you, let's be serious here. He only left because he had to fight crime in the desert or whatever." Brendon was brushing dust off the remnants of his shirt, picking up the hammer again and testing its weight. 

At this point, Mikey shoved his way through the crowd, looking incredibly guilty. He'd finally done it, finally worked up the courage to do it. Ray was trailing behind him, looking like he wanted to vaporize on the spot. Patrick didn't blame him. "Okay, everyone needs to stop with te hammers and shit, we're not animals." Deep breath. "Okay yeah I was kind of cheating on you, Brendon... and I was going to tell you or whatever but it was hard... I'm not going to fight you, Brendon, but if you want to beat me up can it wait until I fight Patrick or whatever? Jeez, I feel like everyone hates me right now..."

Maybe they did? "I DON'T HATE YOU," Gerard called, and that made his brother smile a little bit. Brendon looked shell shocked, and Patrick was in a bad mood, but he figured they should probably end this. 

"Bass battle?" Mikey offered, and Patrick shrugged. He raced back to the stage to get his bass before returning. Patrick was beginning to regret the decision as soon as Mikey started up. He was an actual bassist, Patrick wasn't. He'd been forced into it by Brendon so long ago, and decided to stick with it, he was far from good. But he had to try. 

The Sophisticuffs started their final song in the background, dedicating it to the awesome hammer dude as Mikey started picking out an intricate bassline that Patrick couldn't hope to match. It was something of brilliance, but Mikey didn't seem too happy about playing. 

Patrick tried his best to keep up, but soon he fell behind, and his sound was drowned out- nay, _devoured_ by Mikey's. He strummed until his fingers were numb and he couldn't feel anything but the steady thrum of the beat, until there was nothing but him and his guitar and Mikey's unbelievable bassline- at which point Brendon had recovered from the shock, gone over, and slapped Mikey so hard his head jerked to the side. He dropped his bass and backed up, breaking off the magic and snapping Patrick back into reality. "You know what? You know what? I give up. I'm tired of all this, I'm tired of everyone hating me all the time. Okay? I'm sorry, Brendon, I'm sorry, Ray, but I just want to go home now."

Ray shrugged helplessly, he didn't really care about any of this, he was just happy Mikey was getting it over with. Brendon was shaking with anger, grinding his teeth together, and Mikey smiled a bit. "You can hit me again if you want." Brendon didn't. He opened his mouth helpless with anger, and looked away. Mikey kissed him on the cheek and stroked his hair, then stepped back and turned to Patrick. "You were supposed to kill me or turn me into money or whatever, but I'm not feeling that today, so maybe we could skip that part?" He pulled the red ray gun out of his waistband and held it out to Patrick. "This might come in handy, though, so you can have it."

And finally, he turned to Gerard, went right over and sat down next to him and put his arm around him. Gerard smiled and leaned up against him, because he'd missed this a lot. 

Onstage, Bob coughed, and Patrick stuck the ray gun in his pocket, running back onstage. They played, and it was fantastic. Patrick felt much better- so much better. The crowd went moderately wild for them, and even Jack had to get over his infatuation with Ray Gun Jones and admit that they were pretty good. 

The show went amazingly, and everyone more or less liked it, except for the man leaning up in the back corner, who smirked, slipped his sunglasses on, and left. 

 

 

"I guess I'll go home now," Brendon said. It was raining again, mirroring Brendon's mood perfectly. Patrick nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. "I... guess I'll go home, yeah."

"I'm sorry," Patrick said, and he raised his arm, meaning to reach out to... to what, hug Brendon? Something. Closure. Something better than this, the cold and the rain and the tension. Brendon half-smiled and shrugged, he seemed a lot more human now to everyone. He seemed smaller standing there in an oversized hoodie and plain jeans with a hat pulled down over his eyes.

There was silence. Patrick recognized the hat as his, one he'd bought a long, long time ago and suspected he'd lost. It made him smile a little, and Brendon waved awkwardly and got into the car.

Pete put his arm around Patrick's shoulder, and everything seemed a little more okay in the world.  


	7. Getting it Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beach is relaxing!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Almost-Sex and Regret.

Ryan Ross’ birthday was not until the end of summer, but that didn’t usually suit his tastes so, being the proactive individual he was, he always moved it to the beginning of summer. It saved a lot of hassle for everyone, honestly. Nobody complained about it, or actually _cared_ about it, because Ryan’s family had a summer home in the beaches and _nobody_ complained about having to spend a few days at the beach. It was better to go early too, because going to the beach at the end of summer was just a grim reminder that summer was almost over, and made everything a lot more bittersweet. 

It was just... _nice._  A break from the unbelievable amount of drama that had been happening as of late. All of the annoying squabbles and and ex-boyfriend business put to rest for a while. On the two hour car-ride there, Patrick finally started to relax a bit.

He was wedged in the back between Bob and Pete, and there was a lot of elbows and knees in awkward places and also a lot of pain, but even that wasn't enough to dampen his good mood. They all listened to the relatively hipster music in Ryan’s parent's car on the way there. They also got the treat of listening to Ryan complaining ceaselessly to Alex, who was riding shotgun, poor thing. Some pretty interesting language was being thrown around. 

And, the beach trip itself was a beautiful thing. When they finally got out of the car, stretched out and unpacked, and ran eagerly down to the water. It was sunny the first day they were there, and hot. Not crazy hot, but tolerably so. A perfect day.The water that seemed to go out for miles was clear and blue, and the sand was white and soft underfoot. Patrick stood with his arms around Pete’s waist and in the moment, it was perfect, with the sun beating down and the water lapping lazily at their feet.

And at that point, Ryan thought it would be the _perfect_ time to lob a volleyball at Patrick’s head. The brutal assault felled Patrick, whose arms slipped off Pete as he collapsed in the sand. His hat was knocked off as well, lying in the sand a foot or two away. This display actually made Bob laugh from where he was standing in the water by Alex, who was making a sad looking sand castle. Even out in the sun Bob was _still_ all in black, and he refused to take off his t-shirt, even if it was hot out and he could get a stroke or something. He rated Ryan's throw a seven. It had the desired effect, but lacked some of the finer form. 

The heat seemed not to be bothering the youngest of them at all. Gerard, who was also out in his t-shirt, and was very much accustomed to the sun. Despite this, he was seated under the big blue beach umbrella next to Frank, who looked like he wanted to say something but had refrained from doing so thus far. Gerard had also grown accustomed to glaring daggers at Pete, who got Patrick back to his feet, steadying him with a giggle when he wobbled.

Gerard looked away from their blatant public display of affection, and started grumbling, going back to whatever he was drawing as Frank looked over at him hopefully.

The day wore on like this lazily, with everyone having a generally good time. They played a giant game of beach volleyball and accidentally knocked Frank out for a few minutes in the process. There was also an incident where Bob thought he saw a shark and refused to go back in the water, and Alex nearly drowned leading to a very awkward scenario where he was hanging off of Gerard, who was shorter than him, in chest deep water. Needless to say, by the time the sun was setting, they were all pretty tired of things happening. The remedy for that was food.

Food shut Ryan Ross up in a way that lapsed them all into semi-blissful silence, and they could enjoy the rest of the day again. Patrick and Pete were folded together on a less-than comfortable park bench, sharing french fries and staring at the watercolour sky. It had gone a very lovely shade of orange with accents of purple, pink, and gold.

"You know, I think you're one of the nicest guys I ever dated," Pete said quietly, and that made Ryan laugh from where he and Alex sat on the bench beside them.

"That's actually pathetic, Pete Wentz," he snickered, and Patrick scowled and tossed a fry at him. It hit his head, and had Ryan complaining about his hair in a matter of seconds. 

"Who asked you?" Pete snapped back, and Alex petted Ryan's hair to calm him down before he could bark out a snarky retort. He backed off, leaning against Alex's shoulder like they were dating or something and closing his eyes. The scenario disgruntled Pete, who looked back at Patrick.

"Where have all your exes been lately? It's been like, two months since I had to fight Mikey."

Pete shrugged and fed Patrick a french fry. He didn't seem too worried about it, so Patrick opted to forget about it. "Who even cares. It just means we don't have to deal with them."

Patrick kind of agreed.

 

 

Of course, they all had to do the stupid thing and get drunk on the beach. It was what young people those days did. They went all out too, Gerard had built a campfire and they all sat in the warm glow, immersed in heat and a sense of togetherness or some sentimental shit like that.

There was enough alcohol in each of their systems to make them all living fire hazards, but nobody seemed to mind except Ryan. And even then, he only minded because he had decided Gerard was too young to be partaking in drinking activities. Gerard was, of course. But nobody else _cared_. It wasn't the end of the world, the worst that could happen would be a stern lecture from Mikey. 

Alex, Patrick and Bob got into a sloppy sing-along with a song Alex had written for Ryan a long time ago. It was angsty and passive-aggressive, and made Ryan more irritated than usual. They played terribly, with Alex on his guitar, strumming messed up chord after messed up chord and Bob banging away on an empty tupperware container with no sense of rhythm whatsoever. Patrick and Bob sang back-up, and messed up half the words, but that was okay, not even Alex was remembering the words properly. 

"Y'know, Alex Gaskarth," Ryan slurred angrily, pointing a finger at the party in question and squinting. His eyes were very unfocused, it made everything a whole lot funnier. Alex started laughing and Ryan threw his half-finished beer at him half-heartedly, missing fantastically and nearly hitting Bob. "Yer the reason nobody likes me."

"No, I think nobody likes you 'cause you're you," Pete said, and everyone nodded in agreement, even if they didn't get what was being said at all.

"Happy birthday," was all Alex said, blowing Ryan a kiss before cracking open another beer. Ryan flipped him off and laid back in the sand, (fuck, he'd be complaining about sand in his hair for like, a week) and they enjoyed a moment of silence, filled only with the crackling of the fire and the soothing sound of the waves. It was nice, just to have everyone together and enjoying themselves.

Patrick looked over at Pete, who was making unpleasant faces at Gerard and Frank. The two younger boys were _really_ into their intense makeout session, fingers curled in the other's hair, tongues entwined- wow. The two seemed to have forgotten the existence of every other person around them and maybe also how to breathe- and, okay, it was kind of disturbing for everyone. The mood was lost, the magic gone, and Patrick opted to go back to the house instead of having to sit through watching this happen.

Everyone trickled back to the house on their own time, starting with Patrick and Pete and ending with Alex and Ryan. It was around one o'clock when Frank locked the front door for the night and sprawled out on the dusty rug, groaning.

Pete was a bit _too_ affectionate when he was drunk, Patrick was just discovering this now. He was pretty affectionate usually, with little concern for personal space but _damn_ , he had just disregarded any boundaries. Patrick _also_ realized that he himself was a lot more mellow when he was drunk, and went along with whatever Pete was doing without question. Pete had his arms around Patrick's neck, and he wouldn't stop kissing him for anything in the world. This was going to escalate quickly, and Patrick didn't even fucking _care_.

Ryan had settled down on Alex's lap, leaning his head back on Alex's shoulder. Alex seemed far too drunk to actually care. He was playing absently with Ryan's fingers, seeming to be amused. It was dark, and it was quiet, other than any noises Patrick and Pete were making.  

"Where's Bob," Pete wanted to know, breaking the kiss and giving Patrick a chance to actually _breathe_. He flopped down and put his head in Patrick's lap, sighing. "I miss him. I miss Bob, where is he?"

"Why do you like Bob so much?" Patrick wanted to know, and Pete grinned up at him, big and brilliant and showing his teeth. 

"I really like Bob. Bob is my favourite."

"Are you gonna _marry_ Bob?" Ryan snipped, and that sent Frank into an uncontrollable giggle fit that only intensified when Pete punched a fist in the air and yelled " _TOOOOOTALLY._ "

After about twenty minutes of wedding plans and Patrick and Frank arguing over who would be the best man at the unholy betrothal of Bob Bryar and Pete Wentz, Alex shrugged and scratched his chin and actually bothered to answer the question. "Maybe he's doing Gerard's nails. Bob gets real girly when he's drunk."

"Only I'm allowed to do that," Frank snapped, all traces of his good mood gone. Well. That was quick. "Patrick, go make sure Bob is not doing Gerard's nails."

"Yeah, and then you and Pete can get a fucking room," Ryan grumbled as Patrick struggled to get off the couch. His boyfriend was not making it easy. He insisted on kissing Patrick for a good minute before letting him go, and his fucking _face_ when he did...

Maybe getting a room wouldn't be such a bad idea?

Patrick shook the thought out of his fuzzy head as he stumbled up the stairs. There would be time for that later. _Soooo_ much time.

Bob and Gerard were sitting cross-legged on the bed in the dark with only the light from the hallway making anything in the room visible. They were also staring each other down, in a way that Patrick wasn't actually understanding with his thoughts ridden with the haze of alcohol. Patrick was as quiet as he could possibly be as he tiptoed closer, coming up to the crack in the door and peering in. "I hate everything," Gerard said miserably, rubbing at his eyes- god, he was gonna fuck up his eyeliner and complain about it. Bob smiled a bit at that, ruffling the younger boy's white hair.

"I hate everything too. But you're too young to hate everything, kid."

"I hate boys," Gerard insisted, and Bob leaned a bit closer, chuckling softly. Patrick was starting to feel a bit uneasy about this, trying to figure out what was happening. The cogs were turning, but he was coming up with nothing. 

"Boys are a part of everything, you're allowed to hate boys," Bob informed him, and Gerard stared at him, reaching up to brush Bob's fringe out of his eyes, leaving his hand on Bob's face for faaaar too long.

And then they were kissing and- dear god. Patrick made a sound reminiscent of that of a dying cat and stumbled back into the hall. Bob was kissing all over Gerard's face, making the younger boy giggle and turn his head all over, mumbling weak protest that died off quickly as Bob pressed him into the mattress-

Shit. Patrick hightailed out of there fast a s he could, ran downstairs and-

Yeah it wasn't much better downstairs. Frank had fallen asleep on the rug and was snoring lightly. He was going to be sick in the morning, probably. Frank had the immune system of a houseplant and breathing dust all night would not be good for him. Someone had haphazardly tossed a blanket over him, at least. Ryan and Alex were making out intensely- that was kind of weird. Patrick wasn't sure how he felt about that. Meanwhile, Pete was trying to get his belt off. He wasn't having a very good time of it either.

Patrick decided to help him. 

 

 

"So, you woke up next to Alex Gaskarth _and_ Ryan Ross?" Andy was stacking boxes of macaroni and cheese from the shopping they'd done earlier in the cupboards, trying very hard not to laugh. He wasn't doing a very good job of it.

Patrick was sitting on the counter looking exasperated. His hair was crazy and unbrushed and there was a crack in his glasses- he wasn't entirely sure where that had come from. He didn't remember that much of last night, just the good parts he didn't intend on sharing with Andy. He was also incredibly hung-over, and that was hilarious to Andy. "Did you have pants on, Tricky Trick?"

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer," Patrick mumbled, and Andy lost it. He leaned his head on the counter, laughing until he was gasping for breath. Patrick threw a package of ramen at his head and missed, scowling harder.

"Did _any_ of them have pants on?"

" _ANDY!_ "

Patrick's roommate managed to calm his laughing a little bit, taking the package of ramen and putting it in the cupboard. "And that's why you're here right, and not at your boyfriend's house? Pete still sore from yesterday?" 

"....Not even gonna answer that."

"You love me, Tricky Trick." Andy grabbed his glass of iced tea from the counter and went to sit down in his chair, flicking the T.V on. 

"Andy where are your pants?" He seemed to have misplaced them. 

"Shut up. How is Pete these days anyways?" Andy sipped his iced tea pensively, watching Patrick make his way to the bed and flop down. Without all the hair he'd cut off, there was no way to cover up the monster hickies Alex Gaskarth may or may not have given him. It made Andy laugh a little bit into his drink, and Patrick draped his arm over his eyes, sighing. "You guys doing okay?"

"We're doing fantastic," Patrick said, and he was right, they were. No ex-boyfriends to get in the way, no _Brendon_ to deal with. Gerard was a little bit of a hinderance, but mostly it was just Patrick and Pete, and that was good. "He might not be doing so well with _Ryan_ after last night but uh... Yes, we're great." 

" _Oho_. The plot thickens. Have you even said the L-word yet?"

"... L-word? Look, I don't know what stuff you're into Andy, but he's not-"

"I didn't mean _lesbians_ , you dolt. Love? No?" Andy rolled his eyes and kicked his feet up over the arm of his chair as Patrick registered what he was being told.  

"No."

"Well you should," Andy said simply, turning his attention back to his show.

 

 

"Who's this?"

"....Patrick, that's Rian," Alex Gaskarth said quietly, kind of bewildered at the other man's momentary stupidity. Patrick stared at him for a moment, then tilted his head to the side.

"Ryan?"

" _Rian_. Rian? You know, who Bob's moving in with?" Alex grumbled, adding another box to the pile Patrick was already holding, nearly causing him to fall. Patrick couldn't see past the brown cardboard now, so Alex spun him in the right direction and Rian guided him inside.

"Bob, why are you even moving?" Patrick set the boxes down in the living room, despite Rian's protests, and walked back outside. Bob gave him a dull look and didn't dignify that with an answer. Alex was still mumbling stuff about Rian because y'know, maybe Patrick would understand what was happening if he realized that _Bob and Rian were a thing?_ He very nearly tripped on the rug in the hall, stumbling into a room and setting the boxes down so he could regain his bearings.

Jack Barakat was sitting in an office chair, staring at a computer surrounded entirely by equipment. The room was full of just.. Stuff. Equipment, instruments-

Alex ran in, gasping. "IS THIS WHAT I THINK IT IS?"

Jack jumped and closed like, three tabs, which Alex offhandedly noted was suspicious, but he really didn't care at the moment. "IS THIS A HOME STUDIO? ARE YOU MAKING MUSIC?"

Jack stared at him for a good minute then nodded slowly. "...Yeeeaaaah. _Music_." He leaned an elbow on the desk and smirked at Alex, raising an eyebrow. Oh god. Alex blinked, forcing his eyes away from Jack's mouth, looking him back in the eyes- okay, that wasn't much better. "Why?"

"Would you record us? Would you do that? Please _please **please...**_ "

There were a few beats of silence, and then Jack's smirk became a full-on grin. "Fine. But only because you're fucking attractive."

"SURE."

"Then come back later to talk to me about it." Jack turned back to whatever he was doing, and Alex wasn't sure he wanted to know exactly what that was. He walked out of the room blushing like a fool.

 

 

"Your hair is all black again," Patrick observed, and Pete nodded slowly, touching his fringe.

"Yes, it is. I think I'm going to cut it soon. Really short. What do you think?"

Patrick just shrugged, busying himself with the slice of pizza on his plate. The two of them were eating lunch on Pete's balcony because it was nice out for once, not crazy hot. The balcony offered a lovely view of Pete's box of a backyard, and the neighbour's backyard, which was significantly less nice than Pete's, all overgrown and full of weeds. Gabriel the dog was down there underneath the balcony, sleeping in the shade. It was peaceful.

Patrick studied Pete for a moment, then set his pizza down, deciding to say what had been on his mind for a while. "I'm going to try and figure you out."

"...Why?"

"I don't know a lot about you," Patrick said indignantly. Was it a bad idea? Patrick thought he might like to understand how his own boyfriend worked, understand why he was the way, his vices and virtues. Pete seemed skeptical about the idea, as if there was no way Patrick could ever accomplish that. Like Patrick woud be stuck on the snarky, eye-liner bearing outside of him for the rest of his natural life.

The thought was depressing, so Patrick smiled a bit. Not the reaction he was hoping for, it made him feel a little insecure, but he'd press on. "What do you want to know about me?" Pete laughed, and Patrick hunched his shoulders, staring at the table.

"Anything that would make you less mysterious."

"I'm mysterious?" Pete looked momentarily mystefied and Patrick snorted. No, there was _nothing_ mysterious about an emo-ninja-delivery-boy from out of town. Nothing at all. "Seriously, am I? Do you like me? You like me, right? I don't know why-"

"I mean, I do _know_ you," Patrick interjected quickly, before Pete could worry himself into a fuss, and the other boy nodded, focusing intently on the drink in his hand. "I could always know you better, right?"

"Well, I like you because you're cute, and you always brighten my day." The way Pete was smiling at his drink was _seriously_ adorable. "You make me feel good about-... I don't know. Myself? _Everything?_ I mean, you already put up with so much for me- You're perfect, Patrick. That's what I like about you."

Patrick blinked- _god_ , he was smiling like a idiot, all red in the face. Wow.

"I like your everything," Patrick said queitly, and the alternative word was stuck on the tip of his tongue. How hard would it be? _I love you, Pete Wentz. I love you so much._

...No, it didn't feel right. Patrick giggled nervously, looking back at the table and fiddling anxiously with the hat he never removed. "This doesn't change the fact that I don't know your age."

That made Pete laugh as he kicked his feet up on the table. "I'm not telling you."

 

 

The next day, it was absolutely sweltering. Andy woke Patrick up early so he wouldn't have a stroke or something from waking up at fucking nine in the afternoon with severe dehydration. He gave Patrick ten dollars and told him to go do something.

Patrick wasn't sure why he was at the mall, however. Of all places, he did not like the mall. Too many people, too much noise. Too many hipsters being rude and walking around like they owned the place, discussing their favourite indie bands that Patrick didn't care too much for. Girls kept staring at him, tittering to each other as they passed. _Hey, he's pretty cute- or maybe he would be if he wasn't so **fat**._ It wasn't very good on his self-esteem. Suddenly he was in a bad mood, pulling his hat down over his eyes. His bad mood was understandable.

"...Patrick...?"

Patrick fixed his hat again and looked up, looked around- nothing was registering properly. There was a boy. Did he know the boy? He had brown eyes wide with surprise, messy, too-long hair- _god_ his jeans were tight. They were going to cut off his circulation, seriously. What was with the shirt, too, the blue v-neck he was wearing? Interesting choice...? His glasses were too big, too nerdy, he also had on like, a bazillion things on his wrist. Patrick would die if he had to wear that in public, but apparently that did not bother whoever this was.

"Patrick Stump- oh. Shit, it _is_ you!" And before he knew it, Patrick was being hugged. The boy threw his arms around Patrick's neck and hugged him tight enough to knock the wind out of him. "OH MY GOOOSH. What are you doing here? Damn, I can't believe this!"

"H-hi?"

The boy pulled back, blushing and nibbling on his bottom lip as he sized Patrick up. Patrick was busy trying to breathe. "You got kinda chubby. It's adorable. Hey, do you remember me? William Beckett?" Nothing. "From high school?"

_"_ _Hey, hey you. What're you in for?"_

_"Fighting."_

_"Did you win? I don't think you did. What were you fighting about?"_

_"I didn't like their word choice."_

_"Are you new? I am too, that's why I'm here. I wouldn't last in a fight like you though. My name is William."_

 

"..Office boy?" Patrick guessed, biting his lip against the embarrassment of maybe being wrong. Luckily for him, Office Boy nodded crazily.

" _YES!_ Oh, wow." He sat down beside Patrick with flourish, grinning like a fool. "Wow, you... This is crazy! How've you been? Do you come here a lot?" He was so enthusiastic, his eyes wide and practically sparkling- but his hands were resting a little too high on Patrick's leg for comfort. Patrick tried not to notice it too much. 

"Uh-"

"Does Bob come with you- oh my gosh how _is_ Bob? Is he good? Does he still live around here? I remember when you moved and he was a wreck for like, weeks- is he still in college? I haven't seen him in forever..." William's grip was tightening noticeably. Maybe he just had that issue with personal space that Pete seemed to have? It was still slightly unwelcome, even if he meant well. Patrick had no idea how to politely ask William to remove his grip from his leg. Talk about Pete? Maybe that would work.

"Bob's uh... Good. We hang out a lot and uh.. yeah? I have a boyfriend now so uh.." Patrick adjusted his silly trucker hat anxiously and William pulled back, looking totally surprised. Patrick wasn't sure if he should feel bad at that reaction or what. 

"You have a boyfriend? Woah. Is he nice? Does Bob like him?"

"Bob likes him, yeah, he's uh.. His name is Pete, he's not from around here..." Patrick shifted sweat soaked hair off the back of his neck, ew, and replaced his hat self-consciously as William rattled on and on.  

"I'm from not around here too- oh, I'm moving! Cool, right? I'm heading down south. Got a new band, gonna be a big-shot rockstar! I'm chilling with a friend here, though, Adam? Do you know Adam? No? Maybe not." Brief pause to breathe, William's hand was back on Patrick's leg, on his knee this time. "Hey, you wanna get food? Let's get food, come on, I'll buy you food."

And so, the two old friends sat and ate Chinese food. They discussed their bands, William's seemed a lot more successful than anything Patrick had ever been in. They talked about Bob, and old times, and they talked and talked until the mall closed and Patrick decided that bringing William Beckett to band practice would be a _smashing_ idea. He figured Bob would want to see him, and he wanted to introduce him to Pete, because he had kind of missed his Office Boy over the years. 

"How is Bob doing these days?" William wanted to know as they rounded the corner to Alex Gaskarth's street.

"Bob's great. So fun. Making out with highschoolers and stuff." The resulting laugh he recieved was enough to make Patrick laugh too. William probably thought he was joking. How funny.   

"And your boyfriend? Is he hot? How hot-" William lowered his voice and raised an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer. "-is he hotter than _me?_ "

Patrick didn't answer that.

 

 

"You broke up with him again?"

"I JUST CAN'T MIKEY, OKAY? I _CAN'T_. HE'S STUPID AND HE'S AN IDIOT AND HE'S... _STUPID_..." Gerard was standing on his messy bed, pulling at his hair and looking distressed. He was surrounded with haphazardly tossed clothing articles and CDs, with Mikey seated neatly at the end. The bed dipped when Gerard shifted his weight, agitated, and the CDs assaulted his socked feet.

"Wow, Gee, really rolling with the punches today, aren't you?" Mikey smiled a bit when he noticed a particular CD on the floor, picking it up as his melodramatic brother groaned and crouched on the bed, leaning his chin on Mikey's shoulder and scowling at Brendon's face on the CD cover.

"You guys were my favourites, you know."

Mikey smirked and flipped over the CD, studying the back of it, reading all the familiar song names. "Just like Patrick Stump used to be your favourite?"

That set Gerard off again. "What? No! He'll always be my favourite! I love him forever, Mikey!"

This perplexed Gerard's brother momentarily, so Mikey elaborated. "If you love him forever, why did you cross his face off in all your pictures?"

Gerard made a strangled noise and hopped off the bed, reaching underneath it for his photo album. And Mikey was right, amidst the tattered character designs and pictures of he and Mikey out in the desert, all the pictures of Patrick Stump's perfect face had big fat Xes through them. Gerard frowned and ran two fingers over the pictures. "Who did this? Did you do this? You're the only one allowed in my room- well, you and Brian..."

"Does it matter, Gee? Come on, come back up here. We'll watch bad zombie movies for the rest of the night."

 

 

"Is that where Bob lives?" 

"Yeah, currently. With uh... Jack? Jack Barakat. And some other guy, uh. What'shisface. Drummer. Alex was there for some reason today?" Patrick and William had been sent on a wild goose chase all night looking for Patrick's stupid friends. Frank had been home alone in Alex Gaskarth's house, smoking and blaring really loud music in his room. Patrick did not go upstairs to speak with him, though, he'd been in Frank's room only once before and he had almost died. Frank told Patrick that Alex was over at his boyfriend's house, and Patrick figured he meant Jack so they went there.

They didn't find Bob, but they found a rather ruffled looking, messy haired Alex who appeared to be missing a belt and was not speaking coherently. William clued in, but Patrick certainly did not. Alex led them to Doctor Dee's, telling them to go on without him, that he and Jack were "making magic", in Jack's own words. 

The gang was in their usual booth at Doctor Dee's. William Beckett was wedged between an overexcited Bob and a bored looking Ryan, who was prrrobably waiting for Alex to show up. Poor thing. Patrick was beside What'shisface, who was making eyes at Bob half the time. Bob was preoccupied with William Beckett though, so Patrick was the only one noticing him. It was weird. "Damn, Beckett, I still can't believe you're here. How long are you staying?"

"Until the end of summer or until Adam kicks me out," William giggled. This answer seemed to please Bob, who nodded and fed What'shisface a nacho, intriguing William indefinitely.  

"We have to hang out like, all the time okay? You're not allowed to say no." Patrick had heard enough of Bob and William making plans, and Ryan complaining about them al, so he drowned them out by playing silly games on William's phone. 

He was totally out of it until Pete showed up, kissing him on the cheek and breaking whatever magic came with matching coloured candies. "Hey." 

Pete slid into the booth, pressing Patrick up shoulder to shoulder against What'shisface. William broke off mid-sentence, his smile fading just a bit as he sized Pete up. Patrick suddenly felt a little bit nervous about them meeting like this. William still seemed enthusiastic anew though, holding out his hand. Pete's eyes rested briefly on the five gazillion things William had on his wrist before he matched William's gaze. "Is that Pete? Oh, wow. My name is William."

"Are you one of Ryan's friends?" Pete wondered, and shook William's hand. 

"I have actual standards in friends, you know," Ryan Ross snipped before William could wonder who Ryan actually was.  

"You do _not_ get to say that while you're sitting in the same booth with Patrick Stump and pining after Alex Gaskarth," Bob said, and that was enough. Ryan got up and walked off angrily to the back, where his supposed _actual_ friends were. This was a _victory_. "Anyways, Billiam here went to high school with us."

Suddeny, Pete was mightily interested, leaning forward a bit so he could hear William over the din of the other patrons. "Oh yeah? With you and Patrick?"

"Mhm. He's staying with a friend. Moving, right William?" Bob slung an arm around his friend's shoulder, shaking him lightly. "But yeah, high school. He was the town slut."

Pete's smile wavered for a moment, just long enough for Patrick to notice. "Really?"

"N-no I'm wasn't, Bob!" William shoved Bob's shoulder, turning red. He was so indignant it looked like it hurt. "People just thought I was sleeping with the band..." 

"We were your band, you doof! But you've got a new band now, right? Gonna be a star, with a new band full of totally fuckable guys. You don't need me and Patrick anymore," Bob snickered.   

"Yeah," William said quietly, and he sounded wistful.

 

 

"Are they seriously?"

" _Loud as hell,_ " Came Rian Dawson's voice from the phone that Bob was clutching tightly as he leaned his head on the table. " _I have half a mind to send Ryan Ross a notice: The guy you like is fucking my roommate- oh **fuck** that's loud. Should I call the police?_ "

Bob tried to control his laughter, but he was doing a terrible job at it. So much for heterosexuality, Alex. "Yes, hello? 911? I think Jack Barakat might be dying. Or maybe Alex Gaskarth is just a really good lay, we haven't managed to discern that." 

" _Oh god, I don't even wanna know._   _Please get me out of here,_ " Rian said, and Bob was ready with some witty retort when the worst thing that could possibly happen ever happened. 

Patrick Stump walked into the store, and Bob's smile faded. Patrick made a beeline for Bob and he sat up straight, getting his most apathetic expression on. Whatever this was, it was going to be severely annoying.  

"Later, okay? Later at some point. I'll have to call you later." Bob sighed and hung up the phone, spinning on his stool to face Patrick as the other came up to the counter. "What do you want."

"I was going to ask for a job, because Pete said I should have one?" Patrick had to stop when Bob started snickering, giving his friend a hard look and pulling the brim of his hat down over his eyes before continuing. "I-I don't want to work with Andy, because he's the worst person ever... And I don't want to work with Joe, that's weird."

Bob stared at him for about two minutes before narrowing his eyes and leaning closer. "You are not qualified to work here, Patrick Stump, so I'll dump you on Alex. He seems to be a bit preoccupied at the moment, though, so we'll go for a walk I guess. I can handle your company."

They went outside. And okay, maybe Bob didn't mind Patrick's company as much as he let on, but he'd still rather be with his boyfriend making fun of Alex Gaskarth. Patrick was in a pretty good mood, and they talked about William and Rian and ignored the crazy, sweltering heat outside, but soon their conversation died out, and they walked along in silence. Bob let his eyes wander, but there wasn't much to see. A lot of hipsters, a few scantily clad girls, and one whack job all in black with a hood up. He was all decked out in black, black hoodie, black jeans, black sunglasses... This guy was obviously suicidal, wearing _that_ in this weather. Bob was about to look away when he saw a glint of metal and stopped dead, partly curious and partly horrified.   

"Patrick there's a guy with a sword over there," Bob said uneasily, but by the time Patrick looked up, a truck had passed in front of them, sporting a very large picture of a happy child enjoying a glass of milk.  

"I don't see anyone," Patrick informed him, and the only reason Bob didn't roll his eyes at the obvious statement was because he felt so uneasy. 

"Of course you don't, you dolt. He's behind the truck there-" There was a terrible screeching sound and the child's beaming face was suddenly sliced in half, both halves of the truck falling in different directions, cars screeching out of the way as the halved truck fell. Bob screamed, not unlike a little girl, and pushed Patrick in front of him as the hooded man with the sword emerged from the centre of the truck and made a beeline towards the two of them.

"SHIT."

"AREN'T YOU GOING TO FIGHT HIM?" Bob was clutching Patrick's shoulders- oh god, the guy was getting closer, his black sunglasses gleaming menacingly... 

"I DON'T KNOW WHO HE IS!" Patrick screeched.

"PATRICK DO SOMETHING, HE'S PROBABLY HERE FOR YOU." Patrick had to grudgingly admit that Bob was right, he had to do something, so he did what Pete had told him to do in times of emergency. He grabbed Bob's hand and ran, starting searching for a white door. He threw it open as the deadly ninja-dude-thing was on their trail and jumped, dragging a petrified Bob through Subspace with him.

They hit the other side hard and after sitting there for a short while, got up like nothing happened and walked to Alex's place of employment without a word. Bob did not question Subspace, and Patrick did not talk about the enigmatic Rian. They both agreed never to speak of this again. 

 

 

Band practice was no longer band practice. Band practice was sitting with Pete, Ryan and Bob on Jack's bed, bathed in the light of Jack's computer screen as Alex strummed away at his guitar and sounded mediocre. Jack and Ryan squabbled constantly, because Ryan got on Jack's nerves. But then again, Ryan got on everyone's nerves, just Jack's especially. Bob didn't have the heart to tell Ryan that his being here was pointless, that he and Alex were never ever _ever_ getting back together.

Okay, Bob _did_ have the heart, but he wanted Ryan to suffer and find out on his own. Alex was trying to play peacemaker here, but it didn't work. There would be no peace where Ryan Ross was concerned. 

It was annoying, and prompted Bob, Pete and Patrick to leave early with Ryan in tow- leaving Jack and Alex on their own. Again. Bob loved how oblivous everyone else was, nobody had even suspected anything at this point.

The whole crew ended up at Doctor Dee's again, even though all anyone ever did was complain about the joint. Pete complained about having to be here all the time and not making any effort to find a better meet-up place. Rian complained about the food almost constantly. Ryan complained about having to sit through recording every night, and eventually would get irritated enough with everyone ignoring his complaining to get up and leave the table.

And then it was all fun and games until William announced he needed a smoke, and Pete decided to join him. Pete didn't really smoke, Patrick hadn't known William smoked. They were probably going out there to gossip, that was it. It made Patrick totally uneasy when the two of them goot up and left, smacking his head on the table and groaning. 

"Shit, they're gonna talk about me..."

"Yeah, Bill's gonna convince Wentz that you're a hopeless, nervous wreck and he'll dump you and life can go back to normal, you know, without men with swords trying for our lives." Bob accepted a nacho from Rian, who patted Patrick on the back sypathetically.

"And what, are _you_ gonna marry Pete?"

"Yeah, are you?" Rian was smirking, and Bob was smirking back. Patrick wanted to throw up in a sort of hypocritical way.

"Tooootally," Bob said.

Before Patrick even had a chance to respond, Gerard Way was sliding into the booth right beside him. He'd materialized out of nowhere- god. He was a vigilante, not a superhero, he should not have been able to turn invisible. Gerard was _very_ close, and grinning, desperately happy, right in Patrick's face. Way too close. Patrick leaned away from him, into Rian, who paid him no mind. 

"Aren't you too young to be here?" Patrick had thought he'd been safe.

_Nobody was ever safe._

"Alex helped me in," Gerard explained, and Patrick wondered what he had done to invoke the wrath of Alex Gaskarth. What had he done recently that made Alex think that he deserved such a cruel and unusual punishment? 

"We can't stay long though, Tricky Trick and me have work tomorrow." Alex gave Patrick a look, which he ignored because he was mad at Alexander Gaskarth. 

The reminder was grim.

"Oh yeah, you got hired today, I almost forgot because we nearly died." Patrick did not appreciate Bob's input right now, not with Gerard so close, practically leaning against his shoulder. "Did you tell Pete you got a job?"

"No! I totally forgot..." That was his cue to do so, _thank you Bob_. Patrick shoved past a slightly disappointed looking Gerard, making sure to step on Alex's foot as he got out.

Pete had decided he did not mind William Beckett at all, and he informed Patrick of this as they walked home, hand-in-hand. "That's okay with you, right?"

"Sure," Patrick said distractedly, and Pete looked sideways at him. 

"...Did you have a thing for him in high school?"

"No! B-Bob was totally kidding! He's not a slut!" How easy it would be to say it now, Patrick thought. Pull Pete to the side and just tell him. _I love you, you're perfect._ How easy would that be! When he opened his mouth though, he hesitated, and Pete filled the silence with a smirk and an "I believe you."

Patrick lost his nerve. They kept walking. 


	8. There Comes a Time...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So there's this girl...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Heterosexuality and Spencer Smith's dick

The first day of August found Andy Hurley and Patrick Stump in the obsessively clean office of their landlord, an intimidating Asian woman who made Patrick want to cry most of the time. She was meticulously professional, clad in a smart business suit and an award-winning scowl. Andy had forced Patrick to take his hat off in her presence, because she was kind of the woman who controlled their destiny at the moment, and she'd probably take offense if he was wearing it in a fifty mile radius of her.

This was a terrible start to the day, Patrick had decided, quaking in his shoes as they rode the elevator that was nicer than the apartment they were wheedling for up to her fortress of terror and making sure he was safely behind Andy when they got into her office. He let Andy do the talking. Usually they were in here for about an hour with Andy sweet-talking his way through to an extension and Patrick stuttering responses when she decided to pick on him, searching for the brim of his non-existent hat nervously.

This time, though, went quite quickly. Mercifully so. Apparently they'd paid first-and-last up front when they'd gotten the place. This was last September, they'd been living in the mousehole apartment for almost a year now. She just told them they should be weighing their options, because she'd need to know if they intended to stay.

And that was that. With a fake smile, a dimissal wave and a "have a better day!", Patrick and Andy were free to leave. But even so, there was no chance of retribution for the day, because Patrick had to go to work for the rest of it straight after the fiasco, and work did not run smoothly today.

There was a mishap with a blender that got fruit smoothie everywhere, leading Alex to complain about his hair for about four hours, a visit from Ryan where he went behind the counter and just sat there talking for a good fifteen minutes before he was told he couldn't be there, leaving in a huff. It was tiring, so by the time the worst part of Patrick's day came by, he was in a terrible mood, and unwilling to deal with any further interruptions in his peace.

Patrick had said goodbye to Alex, and kept walking on his own with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He was hot and sticky and out of tolerance for bullshit, and of _course_ when he was in a mood like this, bad stuff happened. So when something big whistled by his head, Patrick looked up, irritated- just as something else nearly knocked him off his feet. He jumped and a gust of wind blew by, slightly perterbed. Patrick stumbled, catching himself before he fell on his face, picking up his hat that had fallen off, brushing it off. "YOU BETTER NOT BE THE GUY WITH THE SWORD."

The next blast of air went over his head again, nearly decapitating him this time. "IT'S TOO HOT FOR THIS, STOP." One by his arm that very nearly nicked him, and okay, _now_ he was mad. "I HAVE TO WORK IN THE MORNING, LEAVE ME ALONE."

He punched up, threw his fist up in the air. And he wasn't disappointed. Patrick hit something really soft, and the offender (it was a person, and not a ninja android or something) yelped and fell, staggering to a stop behind him, slumping and falling to the pavement. It was a girl. She was back on her feet in seconds, looking positively livid. Patrick was just as mad though. "WHY ARE YOU ATTACKING ME."

"YOU JUST PUNCHED ME IN THE BOOB," she screamed back, and almost immediately, Patrick went a rather fetching shade of red that wasn't really visible in the dark, thank god. The girl was clutching her middle, baring her teeth like some sort of dog. She was pretty, or maybe she could be if she looked less feral. Or if you liked girls. Her hair was a weird orangey colour that Patrick couldn't properly see in the dark, pulled back in a high ponytail. More miraculously, the wings of her eyeliner were straight. Patrick would've complimented her on that because it was a feat, but she had just tried to kill him, so. The girl had on a heavy black hoodie that totally obscured the top half of her her physique, but her jeans were a neon blue colour that fit tight over her lower half. Kind of like the jeans Pete wore most of the time.  

"Do I uh... Do I know you?" Patrick held out a hand to help her up but she slapped it away like it was the plague and stood up on her own, wobbling a bit when she was on her feet. She was staring at him like he was the most disgusting thing she'd ever seen, and okay, maybe that wasn't so good on his self-esteem. 

"You really don't know me? Like, nobody's even said anything about me?" This seemed to be the main point of concern to the girl, and it only served to make Patrick even more confused.

"No uh. Sorry? Nobody's mentioned you?" Was she a friend of Pete's? She looked like she could be, honestly. Or maybe she was an ex-boyfriend's girlfriend? Patrick didn't know, and he shrugged helplessly- what else could he do? The girl just scowled harder. 

"Whatever. I'll be seeing you again. But you won't be seeing me. 'Cause I'm gonna like. Kill you next time." 

"...What?" 

"NEVERMIND." And then there was a giant puff of grey smoke, and she was gone. And Patrick was even more confused. So he put his hat on, walked home, and called Pete. 

 

 

They spent a good part of the next night recording in Jack's room, getting Patrick's bass line down before going to Doctor Dee's again and doing absolutely nothing. Pete was missing, but so was Ryan, so nothing was too awful. Jack was also there, but Patrick wasn't totally sure how to deal wiith him quite yet. He kept quiet for the most part, adding snarky commentary on occasion and looking over at Alex a lot. Bob was smirking about it for whatever reason.

"Where's Ryan Ross?" Rian wanted to know, and Alex sighed heavily, looking rather irritated at the very mention of the name. Rian just shrugged, putting his arm around Bob, something that made Patrick uncomfortable for some reason. Maybe it was the very thought of Bob being in a relationship that wasn't _him_ that made him so weirded out. 

"Ryan hates me," Alex said.

"Ryan hates everyone," Bob shot back, and Alex glared at him, shaking his head.

"No, you hate everyone, Ryan only hates some people."

"And that includes you, Alex Gaskarth."

"Whatever. Where's Pete." Alex took a long sip of his beer and Patrick shrugged.

"Pete's at home, and he likes me very much." And they left that like that until Jack asked if Patrick had used the L-word yet and Patrick got upset because why the fuck was everyone so obsessed with _lesbians_ of all things, and he remained upset until William, who had stayed remotely quiet until now, jostled his arm.  

"Hey, hey c'mon. Patrick. Let's leave. C'mon." Well, Patrick figured he had to. He didn't want William Beckett walking to the bus stop alone and intoxicated. He might end up walking in front of a car or something. So Patrick bid the rest of his asshole friends and Rian and Jack adieu, and dragged a giggling William Beckett (still clutching a bottle of beer) out of the establishment and into the night.

William stumbled along behind him, before fumbling and taking Patrick's hand properly, something the other paid little attention to. He was drunk, who even cared? William was swerving all over the place, bumping into Patrick on occasion. "Why is Pete at home tonight?"

"He's alllowed," Patrick mumbled defensively, sticking his hands in his pockets. He really wasn't sure why Pete was home tonight, but he had decided to belive it was because he hated being at Doctor Dee's more than anyone else for his own reasons. 

William shrugged and paused to finish off his beer, sighing when he was done, turning the boottle upside-down and shaking it like that would make some more come out. "Patrick you know what."

"What, William."

William's face was all red. Patrick couldn't really tell why. Was he more drunk than Patrick had previously thought? Or was this some weird thing that Patrick probably did not want to hear about? Probably the latter. William stopped walking, looking kind of confused and kind of embarrassed. Patrick tried to place the expression, but he wasn't getting anything. There were warning sirens going off in his head, this would _not_ end well, but he wasn't making any effort to get away. "In high school?" William grabbed the front of Patrick's shirt, pulling him closer as the beer bottle fell out of his hand and clattered against the pavement, chiipping a little bit. Now Patrick was starting to get _really_ nervous. 

Patrick is starting to get a bit nervous. "Uh... Yeah, high school."

"We never went for it, did we? We neverrr..." William slumped against Patrick's chest, sighing happily. Patrick raised his arms, meaning to put his hands somewhere- where? He didn't want to give off the wrong idea... "Well I just-"

"William you're drunk." Patrick hurried to straighten William up again, to stand him up straight and keep him that way, and the other man just stared at him for a moment.

"I'm drunk," William said, and then he grinned and Patrick did not like this _at all._

William kissed Patrick. It was a quick thing, and gentle, and William tasted like alchohol. He pulled back almost immediately, staring at a bewildered Patrick for a moment before doing it again. Longer this time, messy, Patrick was too dumbfounded to do anything about it. William's hands were wound in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, his tongue running over Patrick's bottom lip-

Patrick turned his head to the side, trying to remember how to breathe, and _oh god_ , William was still close, he could feel his ragged breathing against his neck... Patrick loosened William's grip on his shirt, turned, and walked away as fast as he possibly could. He vowed never to speak of this again.  

 

 

 

"Patrick, we need to talk." 

"Are you breaking up with me?" Patrick and Andy were lying in bed on a Tuesday afternoon, staring at the ceiling. No pants, no shirts, just a whole lot of love. Or lack thereof, apparently. Patrick looked over at his beloved vegan mentor, who was lying with his hands behind his head.

"Yes. So we need to talk about this place."

"Can we talk about William Beckett instead, because he kissed me." Patrick sat up, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. He was pretty sure he'd never been this agitated about anything ever, and he couldn''t stop thinking about it. Never had something felt so good but.. so _wrong_. Andy sat up too, yawning, fumbling around the side of his bed for his glasses.

"How did he kiss you," Andy asked, and Pattrick gave that some thought before responding. 

"He went like this," Patrick said, and he leaned over and showed Andy Hurley just _how_ William Beckett had kissed him. Andy made a face and swiped a hand across his mouth, shaking his head sadly. 

"Oh dear," he said, and found his glasses at long last, sliding them back onto his face. Patrick sighed and fell back in bed. Andy joined him again, reaching over to rustle up Patrick's already-mess hair. "But now we must discuss us, dearest."

"Shoot."

"This place, Patrick, do you like it?" 

That made Patrick laugh. Like _this place?_ A _hobo_ would have a hard time liking this place. Even staring at the ceiling as he was, Patrick could see little cracks where it leaked for unknown reasons on occasion, and god, that made Andy mad. The bathroom was dangerous as a jungle, there were mice in all the cupboards. It was freezing cold in the winter and sweltering in the summer, and as much as Patrick loved him, Andy snored. "No," Patrick said, and Andy nodded.

"Forget about it then. How're things with Pete."

Patrick figured talking about William at the moment was a little bit more important, but okay, he was always down to talk about Pete. "Yeah, we're great, his head doesn't do the weird... eternal void of darkness thing much anymore."

Andy didn't ask about that. "Did you ever think about moving in with him?"

Patrick rolled over and mulled that over for a while. He thought it was the greatest idea under the sun, but what if Pete didn't? What if it was okay for a few days and then Pete started getting tired of him and bored with him and dumped him and left? Thinking like that made him frown, and he pulled the covers over his head. "I'll talk to him," Patrick said.  

 

 

"Who was that?" Alex asked, because he was not happy after having to explain to their boss that they'd been late because Patrick had seen a man he claimed had a sword and had tried to kill him and Bob. They'd almost gotten fired then, because the manager said they didn't want people using hallucinogens working for them, and okay, _maybe_ the story was a little far fetched. Patrick then lied and said it was all a dream and they got off on a firm chastising, and went back to actually accomplish their work. Now Alex was aggressively chopping a vegetable of some description and Patrick was sweating and washing dishes. It was like Milton's Hell in there, as air conditioned as it was in the main part of the restauraunt.

"I don't know, but he really did try to kill Bob and I," Patrick insisted, and he was practically yelling because talking over the fan was impossible. Okay, maybe if it was anyone else, it might've sounded crazy, but with all that had been happening lately, Alex actually believed him.  

"I swear I've seen him bringing his friend in here before..." Alex looked over his shoulder at Patrick. "I don't know, I only saw him for like, two seconds."

"You should have been able to see him longer than that, come on dude, look out this window!" Patrick pointed out the window in question, out to all the patrons enjoying their meatless food in perfect vegan harmony. He grumbled, watching them all eat in peace as he scrubbed away at the tricky spot on the plate he was working on- the plate that clattered into the sink when he noticed the most brightly coloured patron. "Alex, Alex Gaskarth look. IT'S THE COLOURFUL PANTS GIRL."

Alex wiped his hands on his appron and sighed, going over to the window. "Wow those are some colourful pants- wait, how does she know Pete?" 

"WHAT?!"

**[Pete seems more interesting at the moment, we'll give him the spotlight.]**

**  
**"They used to be friends. What's the deal?" Pete said with a shrug, sipping his drink as the girl glared daggers at him.

"Oh, I forgot who I was talking to," she grumbled, tightening her ponytail as Pete rolled his eyes, because she was being a bit overdramatic, as usual. "I forgot. You have no problems with sleeping around. I just figured you might have more of an issue with it if it was your boyfriend doing it."

"Are you really going to accuse Patrick Stump of sleeping around?" Pete mused, and the girl scowled harder, kicking him in the shin hard enough to make him wince. People with high-tops were dangerous, jeez... "Hayley, you need to calm down okay? I haven't seen you since college! Haven't you-"

"The fuck is going on here?" Patrick Stump appeared so suddenly that it made Pete jump. He was right beside them, in his stupid hat and his stupid, white, grease-stained apron with his hands on his hips-

"What are you wearing- hey, do you work here? You got a job here?" Pete plucked at the end of Patrick's greasy apron curiously, but Patrick was more concerned with the evil orange-haired girl who'd been trying too kill hm the other day.

She was quite pretty in daylight, prettier than she was in the dark. And she knew how to do eyeliner properly, which was a feat, as far as Patrick was concerned. Half her hair looked hot pink now though, Patrick was sure this hadn't been the case before.   

"Who's this?" Patrick pointed at the girl, who frowned and looked around him at Pete, who seemed a bit uncomfortable all of a sudden. 

"Don't point at me," Hayley said, and she bent Patrick's finger back until he yelped and jerked away. "Do that again and I'll break it off, I swear to god."  Momentary silence, and the girl sighed, hunching her shoulders. "Hayley Williams. Wow, you haven't even mentioned me? Thanks a billion, Wentz."

"College buddies. Patrick how long have you been working here? You didn't tell me..."

Patrick still seems mightily (and understandably) distracted by the girl who tried to kill him and Bob. The staredown between him and Hayley was vicious, and Patrick was really tempted to look away.  He doubted that was a good idea though. "She tried to kill me," Patrick mumbled, wanting to point but liking his fingers all at the same time.

"And he punched me in the boob," Hayley shot back.

"Patrick you can't just punch girls in the boob," Pete tutted, shaking his head as his boyfriend made confused sounds. Wasn't Pete supposed to take his side? What a traitor. "I thought you were better behaved than that!"

"Whatever! Why is she here?" There was a long, heavy silence, and Hayley leaned her chin on her hand, raising an eyebrow at Patrick as she and Pete waited for him to figure out what was happening. It took a while, honestly, worked the cogs in his head a little harder than thet were meant to be strained. The realization was cold and horrifying and _oh **god**_ -

"YOU AND HER? _YOU DATED A **GIRL?**_ " That was loud. Everyone was staring, and Pete groaned and smacked his head off the table as Patrick stood there with his mouth open. This was really embarrassing. " _OH MY GOD, YOU DATED A GIRL._ "

**[Hayley Williams, 4th evil ex-boyfriend]**

Hayley stood up as Pete did, and cracked her knuckles, tilting her neck from side to side and reaching for her sword. "Alright, Patrick, let's get this over with."

Patrick yelped and ducked behind Pete- god, he did _not_ want to fight anyone today. He moved Pete so he was blocking his view of the murderous girl entirely, cowering behind him. Pete just sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Not gonna fight her, honey?" 

"I'd rather not," Patrick whispered, and Pete looked back at him. 

"Get me a weapon from my bag then, I'll handle it." Pete unbuckled his yellow messenger bag and Patrick rooted around for a bit before he located the first weapon-feeling handle, something cold and metal-feeling with sticky tape stuff. Damn, there was a lot of other stuff in there. Patrick pulled out the thing- a shiny silver metal baseball bat, and handed it to Pete. 

 **[Vibranium Baseball Bat. +13 Justice.]** "Come on, Hales, let's take this outside." 

Hayley looked from Pete to his bat, then back at Patrick, who seemed a little more confident now that his boyfriend was armed. She still wasn't pleased, not at all. There was no honour in being a coward that didn't fight his own battles, and that made her mad. "I'm not the bad guy here, but if you want, fine."  

"ALEX TELL ADAM I'M GOING ON MY BREAK," Patrick called back, grabbing the strap of Pete's bag as he followed them outside. Once they were outside, Pete grabbed Patrick's hand and started to run- no, Patrick couldn't do running, but if he got him away from Hayley any faster, he wouldn't complain. Hayley growled like an animal and sprinted after them, jumping and sliding over the hood of the red car in her path as the light changed to green and the three of them were stuck running through traffic.

"I'M GOING TO DECAPITATE YOU," Hayley screamed over the melodic symphony of angrt drivers and car horns, and Patrick nearly ran into one more yellow car as he and Pete hopped up onto the sidewalk and kept running, doing a warped sort of slalom around perterbed pedestrians, who would complain if they touched them like a game of Operation. Pete was practically dragging Patrick now, who was entirely out of breath, and trying his hardest to keep up. Hayley was catching up quickly, though, and Pete had to speed up, making an apologetic sound. 

"I think there's a subspace door around here," he told Patrick, who nodded and managed to point it out because, fuck, it meant he could stop running at long last.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE, WOULD YOU?" Pete shouted back, and Hayley flipped him off, baring her teeth. No way, not if he was going to be a little bitch about having to fight her. "COME ON, HE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A SWORD, YOU'RE BEING SUCH A HUGE BITCH."

Pete nearly ran into the subspace door, but Patrick took the courtesy of throwing it open for him before he could, and they both jumped, the door slamming shut behind them. They landed, and Patrick collapsed, panting like a dog. He'd decided never to run from a fight again, because he'd rather be beat up than have to be this tired ever again. "You'e gonna have to fight her eventually, Pattycakes," Pete said quietly, and Patrick waved him off because he didn't really want to be hearing this. Instead, he decided to take off his apron, because it made him look ridiculous. 

Hayley walked out of the darkness, pulling down her hood and shaking out her colourful hair before raising her sword. Pete stepped in front of Patrick and raised his bat, getting into a battle stance. "Okay, pay attention to me, I'll show you how to beat her up. Prepare yourself, Hales."

"Fuck you." Hayley ran at him with a war cry, and hacked down with her sword, and it only sliced through the hem of Pete's purple hoodie as he stepped back. Ow, that was his favourite one. Hayley hacked down again and it clanged off Pete's bat, but he forced it up and held it there, pushing it slowly off to the side until her arms were shaking with the exertion of keeping him down. He shoved her sword out of the way, finally, and smacked her on the head. Hard. Hayley staggered and nearly fell over, but Pete wasn't giving her anything, no space or timme to recover.

Pete followed up with a vicious blow to her middle and fiished off with an expert soccer kick to her head that had her sprawled out on the hard subspace floor so fast that if you'd have blinked, you would have missed it. Patrick was staring, mouth agape, okay yeah. He would not be able to replicate that. He was quite impressed. Hayley struggled to sit up, then got to her feet, swiping at blood from her nose.

"Why are we even fighting? I don't want to fight you!"

"You're being a bitch to my boyfriend and I don't like that," Pete said simply, shaking his hand out. 

Hayley made a face and spat blood by Pete's feet, swiping it off her chin with the back of her hand, over the sleeve of her hoodie. She'd have some impressive bruises in the morning, that was certain. Shame, Patrick thought. She really did have a pretty face. "Did it occur to you that perhaps I was holding back because I'm still in love with you?" 

"In that case, you're out of luck," Pete snapped, and Hayley flinched. For a second, Patrick almost felt sorry for her. She nodded slowly and pulled her hair back into a ponytail again. Her hands were shaking, but Pete seemed remotely unsympathetic to her sudden mood change.

And then Hayley just... left. Left without a word, limped right off, hugging her middle. Got swallowed up by the darkness of Subspace. Pete watched her go, then put the bat back in his bag and helped Patrick up to his feet. "She's got a band now and everything. Apparently they're quite good." This was a sudden topic change. And mood change, too. Pete was smiling again, brushing dark grey Subspace dust off Patrick's clothes. Patrick didn't say anything, so Pete continued. "They're playing later tonight at the Ice Palace."

"Did you wanna go?" Patrick asked and Pete laughed, throwing his arm around Patrick's shoulder and giving him a kiss on the cheek and rubbing their faces together like a cat.

"I'd rather hang out with you!" And they stumbled through Subspace like that before Patrick remembered what he'd told Andy he would do.     

"Uh... you know, our lease is up soon..."

"Patrick Stump, are you inviting yourself over to my house permanently?" And he kept laughing and laughing his annoying laugh as Patrick sputtered and tried to formulate a response as coherently as he could manage at the time. He was glad there was nobody around to see him being pathetic like this. Somewhere, somehow, Andy was probably laughing at him. "It's fine, Tricky Trick. I don't mind. Tell me about your job instead." 

 

 

It was getting to the point where even Patrick wasn't sure why they were spending so much time at Doctor Dee's, because here they were. Again. Pete was wedged between Patrick and Alex, staring hard at William on the other side of the sticky table, between Bob and Frank. Bob was as out of it and apathetic as ever, now that the hype of William Beckett had died down a bit. He had taken to amusing himself by pushing the salt shaker around, making various ray gun noises. William was looking at Patrick every so often, and had on the expression of a cornered animal, with his shoulders hunched up under his ears, his face going pink everytime Patrick caught him looking. Frank just looked pissed off.

"What's up, Frank?" Alex kind-of wanted to know, because he hadn't been home for a while and hadn't spoken to his roommate in all that time. That sent the younger boy into an angry rant.

"What's up? Nothing's up you fucking assholes! I'm always alone, you never want to do anything anymore! You never hang out with me or anything- Bob stop that, you're acting like Gerard."

They'd broken up for the fourth time yesterday, and it had been annoying for everyone. Lots of tears, Alex having to spend the rest of his day after work just listening to Frank scream angrily, and apparently Gerard had called Andy seven times while Patrick was out. Which had not been good because apparently Spencer had been over in that time. Andy had given Patrick a lecture. There had been tears.

Alex just waved a hand to pacify Frank, who backed down sulkily. "You still have school, Frankie. It's not our fault."

"It's our fault we're not practicing," Bob said, checking his watch again. He'd done that about seven times in five minutes, and even Alex was getting suspicious. William opened his mouth to talk, managing to get Patrick's name out before Alex informed Bob loudly that they were not practicing because they were recording, with Bob following up with a segment about how they should be practicing so Jack wouldn't have to edit so much when they recorded.

Pete's scowl deepened, and he crossed his arms over his chest, but William was paying no attention to him at all. Patrick was trying very hard to ignore William, knowing the events of the other day would be brought up at some point if he did, and he had finally gotten over that. Frank was going on another loud rant about how Alex had been turning down shows at Doctor Dee's, something that irritated Bob to no end, and got him all revved up on the topic of not practicing again. Halfway through the rant, when Alex got in and turned it into a complex argument, Patrick finally met William's gaze, and Pete noticed, making an annoyed sound. 

William apologized to Frank quietly and slipped out of the booth, slinking away to the back of the joint as Pete glared at him the whole time. After listening to his friends argue for about fifteen minutes, Patrick decided it was time to leave, because this was going to get boring really fast, and Pete was agitated for some reason. But once they were outside, Pete didn't say a word until they'd been walking for at least five minutes.

"What's the deal?" Pete asked, crossing his arms over his chest again. He refused to look at Patrick, and was focusing pretty intently on the road in front of him, even if there was nothing exciting about it but cracks in the pavement. 

Patrick laughed nervously. This could not be good. "I know right? If you're a band, isn't the purpose to-"

"No, with your friend in the band," Pete snapped, and Patrick flinched, pulling his hat down over his eyes anxiously. Pete never raised his voice at him... He must be pretty upset about this. "What's the deal with you and William Beckett?" 

At the mention of the name, Patrick stopped walking. That was it? He almost felt like laughing this was so silly. Pete was being paranoid. "Me and William Beckett? Pete, there's nothing! There never was anything!" Pete's head was doing the weird darkness void, the shadowy aura around him seeming to soak up the sickly orange glow from the streetlight. It was worrying Patrick a little bit, and it seemed to only be getting worse, which was not reassuring. Patrick reached out an gripped Pete's shoulder, frowning. It didn't do anything. 

"Not even in high school?" Patrick shook his head, but Pete still wasn't done. "Not even if you wanted it to?"

Okay, _maybe_ Patrick had once had a thing for William Beckett before Bob showed up, but it was a stupid little thing that neither of them had actually acted on, even if Patrick had been acting like a lovesick puppy half the time and it was _painfully_ obvious that he had a thing for the Office Boy. But then Bob had showed up and the whole thing petered out, and that was that, but apparently telling Pete that had been the wrong approach, because his expression just darkened and the aura around him thickened until Patrick had to back up a bit. It was almost obscuring Pete's face. Patrick wasn't sure what that stuff would do to him, and it made him nervous. It didn't seem to be affecting Pete in a positive manner at all.

"Pete, why are you acting like this? I keep telling you-"

"Goodnight Patrick," Pete said coldly, and hell if Patrick had ever heard someone with less emotion in his voice. The words rang in his ears- this was a fight, wasn't it? A fight over William Beckett. The first real fight they'd had, god, he felt _horrible_ , watching Pete's back as he walked away.

He could scream it now, couldn't he? _I don't love William, I love you!_  And he almost did, again. He almost did, he opened his mouth- but the words stuck on his tongue. Patrick felt like a coward, and he felt like a coward all the way home, a lonely coward with a boyfriend who hated him. It was seriously the worst.

 

 

"So you got rid of him, eh?" Pete sighed and closed the door, turning to look at Hayley, who was finally smiling. He could hardly see her until he flicked the light on. Her hair was wet and she had a towel around her neck. his towel. She better not have gotten hair dye on it. "You guys get into a fight? Told you he was cheating on you, Petey." 

"Patrick's not cheating on me, Hayley," Pete grumbled, brushing past her on his way to the kitchen, trying not to notice how barely-there her shirt was and how tight her bright pink jeans were. It was a task. "Jeez, did you make yourself at home or what?"

"Took a shower, hope you don't mind. You know how shows get," Hayley said with a shrug and a smile. 

Pete did, because Patrick always came offstage dripping with sweat and then they'd walk home and Pete would suggest a cooler alternative, like maybe taking his shirt off- Okay, _no_ , he was not going to do that with Hayley.

Pete barely paid her any mind as he went for the already-full mug sitting on the counter containing coffee he shouldn't be drinking if he expected to get any sleep at all, which he didn't. He didn't sleep that well without his inconvenient space-heater of a boyfriend anymore. Hayley had been nice enough to make coffee, so he thanked her for that, but that was all she was getting. He wasn't as grateful when she sat down across from him, staring at him fondly.

"You don't change, do you, Petey?" And Pete scowled and sipped his coffee. "Unless you have, and Patrick dearest doesn't have to sit there and hold you while you shake and shiver at four in the morning because you've had a nightmare, right? _Oh no, nobody loves me, no..._ "  

Pete nearly choked on his coffee, slamming his mug down on the table. Okay, no, that wasn't okay to bring up and she knew it. "You caught me at a hard time, okay? I'm fine now, Patrick doesn't need to deal with that, I'm okay."

"You told me that every day," Hayley said quietly, and Pete sighed, waving her off. Apparently that didn't please her because she got up and stood behind him, running her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and leaned back into it, too tired to offer any sort of protest. It felt nice, so what? It was hardly sex. "Do you want to go upstairs?"

"I can't do anything with you," Pete managed. He had to be in control, as tempting as the offer was, as much as he probably wouldn't mind her doing anything. He finished his coffee and stood up, going to put the mug in the sink. She followed him.

"No- Pete, come on. Look at me." She spun him around to face her, and, okay, she was really close, looking up at him with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She pressed closer, stroking her hand down his face. He pushed her away gently and tried to move. Immediately, she fell on her knees.

Of course he was going to get the wrong idea, and his face heated up like a tea kettle. "Nooooo. Noooo no no." Hayley laughed, but she didn't move, just leaned her head against his hip and sighed. Was that it? Pete relaxed a little bit, trying not to thinkk about any sort of memories this position might bring up. 

"You're horrible aren't you?" Hayley said quietly, and Pete frowned, running his hand through her wet hair. "You are. But they keep falling, don't they? Dropping like flies at your feet."

He wasn't sure what to say to that, because it was kind of true.

"I still love you, you know."

"...Yeah, Hayley, I know." 

 

 

"So now you can honestly say that you've seen Spencer Smith's dick," William said, as if that was supposed to make Patrick feel any better. It really didn't. Andy would slap him if he was thinking of Spencer Smith's dick, no matter how impressive it was, and he wasn't sure if vegan powers included mind reading yet, so he wasn't going to take the chance.

Here Patrick was, at William's friend's (who happened to be his boss) house, because Andy had kicked him out for Spencer reasons and oh _god_ he'd walked in on them and if that wasn't mentally scarring, Patrick wasn't sure what was. Bob was too far, he didn't want to stay with Alex because Frank had been extra dickish about these things lately, and Pete was pissed off at him. So? He was here. With William Beckett. Sitting in the dark on the other side of the couch. And it was unbearably awkward for everyone.

"....Um. Should we talk about the other day?"

"William, what's going on with us?" Patrick was almost afraid of the answer, hugging his knees tight, hat pulled down over his eyes. He wasn't sure why he even asked, because William stood up, chewing his fingernails as he paced.

"There's nothing going on with us, Patrick. I mean- sure. There could've been. W-way back when, y'know. We were too stupid for that. Besides, you have Pete now." He settled in front of Patrick, on the coffee table. He lifted Patrick's chin when he looked down at the floor, smiling a bit when Patrick met his eyes. "You guys are like, inseparable."

"I guess we are." Patrick looked away from William, because this was embarrassing and should not be happening. "I haven't told him uh.. the L-word yet."

"No?"

"Nope. We just had a giant fight- over _you_. I mean, I _told_ him we don't have a thing, we never did-"

"Maybe we should've," William said suddenly, and Patrick stared at him, confused. William was playing around with the bajillion wrist thingies he had on, chewing on his bottom lip like a teenaged girl. He looked up at Patrick again, and- okay, Patrick knew that expression, _no_.

"Maybe we _should_." There was a long pause, silence thrumming between them like a war drum, almost as thunderous as Patrick's heart, god, he was nervous. William reached out a bit, and grabbed the front of Patrick's shirt. And when Patrick didn't flinch away violently, William pulled him forward to kiss him again.

It didn't feel quite right as much as Patrick told himself that kissing is kissing and all kissing is the same. But it didn't feel _bad_ , really, and okay, maybe Patrick didn't shove him off of him _straight away_ because he was upset with Pete and life sucked and... Why not, right?

William shifted a little bit closer, leaning in more, and Patrick's eyes flickered open hesitantly- okay, how far was this going to go? He pushed his hand against William's chest to tell him to slow down again, but that only made him kiss Patrick harder, push him down backwards until his back was flat against the couch cushions. And then William climbed on top of him and straddled his hips and kissed him again. Patrick was momentarily overwhelmed- everything felt hot, and he didn't know why. Uncomfortably hot, and William's weight on him felt kind of unnatural. Different from Pete. It didn't feel right and Patrick wasn't sure why. He'd done this before, what was so different-

Patrick pulled back his hand nervously, breaking the kiss quickly. "Will-" Then he was being kissed again and William was nudging his mouth open and Patrick grabbed his wrists, squeezing hard until William relented a little bit. "Bill I can't-" He had to take a breath to steady himself. "I can't-..." Even now, he couldn't say it. couldn't explain why everything felt so weird to him. It made him feel absolutely terrible. Like a terrible boyfriend, terrible and way too hot, his face is flushed something awful.

William's was no better, when Patrick reached up and stroked his hands down William's smooth skin, curling his hands in the other's hair. William merely sat there, perfectly still, staring at Patrick like he'd just diagnosed him with cancer. Like this was the absolute worst thing that could possibly ever happen to him. Crushed, that was it. He looked totally crushed. 

"Tell me why," he said softly, and Patrick squeezed his eyes shut. "Please?"

"I love him. I just... Love him, okay I..." He heard William sigh softly, felt him move off of him. "I'm in love with Pete, I'm sorry."

And he knew what he had to do.

 

 

Patrick felt jittery walking into the coffee shop in the morning, like he was full of nervous energy. Which he was, fancy that. How were you supposed to do this again? Was it just a casual thing? Be sickeningly romantic about it? Have sort of a chick-flick scenario where you ran up and picked the person up and swung them around and kissed them hard and confessed your feelings to them? It had been so much easier with Brendon, he'd accidentally blurted it out one day and made Brendon laugh like a maniac.

Jeez, he was overthinking this severely. Patrick needed coffee, needed to be properly caffeinated and in control. Just to help matters, however, Joe was off his shift- jeez, Patrick had to get his work schedules under control- and Gerard Way was standing at the counter, beaming, visor placed atop his bleached white head. He looked kind of cute in his uniform- okay not the time to be thinking about that at all. And before Patrick could turn on his heel and walk off, a familiar face walked right into the shop, making the litttle bell tinkle at the door cheerily. It sent Patrick scrambling behind the counter.

Or not really familiar face, the guy in the black hoodie that had tried to kill Bob and Patrick the other day, no big deal. He walked in, lowered his hood and took off his sunglasses as Patrick ducked behind the counter. Gerard didn't question it. "What're you doing here?"

"Making sure you weren't crying into people's coffees, Way. It's bad for business," said swordy guy, and Gerard laughed.

"Who's the dramatic one now, Brian?"

Gerard's long-suffering best friend? _That_ Brian? Why was he so murderous all of a sudden? Patrick listened to them chatting idly, desperate to get out of here and complete his mission. No such luck. Business was slow, so it went on for a good five minutes before Patrick messed up and sneezed. 

The conversation halted, Brian pausing mid-sentence, and at that point, Patrick knew he was doomed. So instead of accepting his fate and clinging to Gerard's legs and begging for mercy, Patrick decided to get a head start by scrambling out from behind the counter and sprinting away. He vaguely remembered saying that he'd never be running from a fight again because it was too taxng, but honestly? Fuck that.

Brian snarled and covered the entrance, so Patrick went around the back, not really sure what he was expecting. Luckily, there was a Subspace door. 

Patrick was sure he'd never been in this part of Subspace before, and he hit the ground running. Theere were no walls, just the surrounding darkness. The floor was made of large, checkered tile, like a chessboard, leading up to the only thing in this space.

There was a really fancy chair- a throne, it looked like, and it was shaped like the head of a snake. A cobra, to be precise, a cobra with ruby eyes and golden scales. A shadowy figure sat on the throne, Patrick couldn't make out any defining features on him. And Pete sat beside the figure, looking content and blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Patrick skidded to a halt, confused now, as to why Pete might be in here. Pete's wrists were tied together, but he didn't seem to mind it at all. He sighed happily and leaned his head against the shadow figure' knee, looking up at where his face should be. He had no shirt on, just his jeans, no shoes. It was all very confusing, and Patrick was't sure how he felt about this arrangement.

"Pete?" Patrick wondered, and his voice echoed like thunder, making him wince when Pete whipped his head around, startled. "Is this your head? It is, isn't it? How did I end up in your head-"

"Patrick? What are y- GET OUT!" Pete stood up, but suddenly Patrick couldn't see him. Someone shoved him roughly from behind, and he fell in a hole he hadn't known was there and-

 

"WHAT THE FUCK PATRICK," Pete screamed, and Patrick was suddenly very aware of the real world, trying to get his bearings. The world was spinning, but he was getting a clear picture at least. He was at Pete's house, that was good, this was his destination. He should probably smooth things out and say what he needed to say before this escalated any more. 

"I'm sorry, Brian was chasing me through subspace and-"

"Okay, whatever." Pete took a deep breath, bracing a palm against his forehead to calm down a bit. "Look, I'm sorry, I was being stupid and..."

Patrick peeled his face off the ground, wincing as he sat up. Maybe facing Brian might've been a bit easier, jeez. He looked up at his boyfriend, thinking the next words over real carefully. Apparently not carefully enough. "Okay, I slept over at William Beckett's house last night-"

" ** _Excuse me?_** " 

Abort, **ABORT**. Patrick waved his hands crazily to pacify Pete, who was balling his hands into fists, looking like he wanted to go kill a dude. It didn't do much. "LOOK, look! I slept on the couch- Andy had some guy over and you were mad and Bob's having issues-"

"Are you in love with him?" 

Patrick was dumbfounded. Had he given off that vibe? Did he _seem_ to be in love with William? That wasn't a matter- he could say it right now. _I'm not in love with William, I'm in love with you an I told him that. So now I'm telling you._

But of course, nothing was ever that easy, and Hayley Williams opened the door, letting Patrick get a good long look at her before grinning and walking back inside, closing the door behind her. That had been her intention, her only intention. Fucking up everything.  

Patrick couldn't talk properly, just gave Pete a look that might've been angry or might've been confused. Suddenly, everything looked a lot darker. Why was she there? He'd let her stay last night but not his own boyfriend? Why was Pete giving him grief over William when she was- 

"I'll explain later, okay? I just... Sorry, Patrick, I'll explain later."

And Pete went back inside, running his hands throgh his hair, and the world was _so_ dark, Patrick could hardly see. It occured to him that he might have the eternal void of darkness thing going on, but he didn't care. He just lay back, trying to get his brain to work properly, tried to sort out all the feelings that were polluting his rational thoughts.

_You didn't say it, did you? Didn't tell him you loved him._

Oh god, not this again. Patrick shook his head hard, nearly sending his glasses flying. "Don't you dare.."

_You never do, you wait until it's too late._

"NO." He was stressed enough already, he didn't need any troubled thoughts. Patrick swatted futiley at the darkness around his face, and it felt cold and... wrong, he hated it, and it made him frustrated, how was he supposed to deal with this? He couldn't, he was hopeless...

_Pathetic. If you could keep your head screwed on tight, maybe people would actually stay interested in you._

"I DON'T NEED YOU." Patrick struggled to stand up until he could see the sun again, until the darkness had cleared from around his head. He threw every positive thought he could think at the shadow at the back of his head. _Pete loves me, I know it, I love Pete, I can do this._

_I can make this work._

He wasn't given very much recovery time. Brian burst out of Pete's house a second later. And Patrick knew what he had to do, he just had to do it.

He shoved Pete out of Brian's warpath, then ran back inside the house. He scrambled upstairs, nearly tripped three times, all the way to Pete's room, hoping to find the bat he'd used against Hayley.

Instead, he found Hayley on the bed with Gabriel, flicking through various magazines, looking up when they entered, unamused. Brian stopped dead and Patrick ran into the bathroom and hid in the tub to wait this confrontation, which was probably the smartest move right now.

"Did Gabe send you?" Hayley snarled. She already had her sword out, and Brian was giving her a confused look. "Or are you an example of Patrick Stump cowering behind everyone else to fight his battles for him?"

Their battle was hardly a fight at all. Brian shoved Hayley off the bed and she fell back, recovering quickly and throwing herself at him. He shoved her away, trying to pass her to get to the bathroom that Patrick was seeking refuge in.

It was a mistake, because Hayley pinned the back of his jeans to the floor, giving him a kick to the back of the legs to drop him to his knees. But when she pulled her sword free, Brian somersaulted out of the way and tried to get at the bathroom again.

"PAY ATTENTION TO ME." Hayley forced Brian out onto the balcony, then shoved him down. He grabbed her arm before he fell, taking her down with him. They broke through the railings, wrestling for control in midair before Brian slammed into the ground, groaning. Pete ran out onto the balcony, fretting more about the damage than his ex-girlfriend, and Patrick finally worked up the courage to do what he needed to do. 

"Pete, am I a coward?" He asked, walking out onto the balcony. His heart was going a mile a minute, and this would probably be a bit romantic if two people weren't fighting to the death underneath them after causing propertty damage to a house that wasn't theirs. Pete shrugged, and Patrick bit his lip before working up the courage to continue. 

"Pete." Patrick grabbed his boyfriend's shoulders, whirling him to face him. Pete had never seen him look so determined, and it was kind of reassuring kknowing he could be serious if he wanted to. "I know you're still keeping me a bit far away because you don't want either of us getting hurt, and you don't trust me fully, I get that, and I don't care about any of that, because I love you." He took another deep breath, giving off a shaky smile. "And I know we can make this work." 

**[Level Up!]**

**[Patrick has gained the power of Love! +5 Strength, +7 Loyalty. He's probably better at sex too!]**

There was a lot of white glowing, and a slightly disturbing moment when Patrick had to pull a golden sword out of his chest. It was kind of stupid looking, with a little ruby heart as a pommel, and he'd managed to freak out everyone a little bit with the display. But physical impossibility aside, now he could fight properly, and Pete was smiling again, still kind of bewildered.

Patrick hopped down off the balcony, and faced Hayley and Brian, who had paused their battle to the death. He was ready now, he was going to do this, do it for real, and do it right. Brian stepped off to the side so Patrick and Hayley could have their battle. It was only polite.  

"You're dead," Hayley spat, and Patrick didn't respond. Mostly just because he had no witty comeback that wasn't a gay joke. He just decided to make this an epic samurai standoff and broke off into a run. Hayley mirrored his movements almost immediately and-

 

_**KSHHK** _

Patrick stumbled when he landed, okay, points would have to be deducted for sloppiness, but overall it was a good landing. Papercut level pain was radiating from the somewhat-impressive cut along his cheekbone, the only mark Hayley had managed to inflict on his person. Blood was dribbling down his cheek, hot and thick and icky. Uh, _ow?_

But Hayley coughed and spluttered and fell to her knees, hugging her middle, and he knew he'd won. "Fuck..." She looked back over her shoulder, scowling. "Fuck, you... you got me but... You won't beat the.. brothers..."

She slumped over and took one final, ragged breath, whispered something final, and then it was over indefinitely. There was an explosion, an explosion of rabbits and little birds that ran off and flew away immediately. "You have a thing for breaking up bands, don't you?" Pete said weakly.

Patrick laughed a little bit, and turned to Brian then- or to where he _thought_ Brian would be, because in reality, Brian was right in fucking front of him, with his fist swinging at Patrick's face.

He socked him good just under the eye, and grabbed the front of Patrick's shirt before he buckled. "Look, Patrick Stump, I _hate_ you. But you're alright, so I'll let you go." And he did, Patrick falling gracefully on his ass. "But if you so much as _look_ at Gerard in a bad way, and I'll shoot you between the eyes."  

Fair enough. Brian stalked off without another word, and Pete helped Patrick to his feet, throwing his arms around his neck and nuzzling his face into Patrick's collar. "I'm sorry, I overreacted and I was a total asshole and she only slept on the couch and we didn't even make out that much-"

"Pete, _I'm in love with you!_ " 

"I... Yeah... I think I'm in love with you too." And he pulled back again to give Patrick a proper kiss, and it was all so cliche Patrick wasn't even sure why it wasn't raining. 

 

 

"Wakey wakey Gee." Brian walked right in, god, Mikey had probably let him in. It was too early for this. Gerard made a sound of protest when Brian flicked the lights on and off in rapid precision, pulling his pillow over his head and hoping his friend would go away. 

"Doooon't." But Brian just shrugged and went over and sat on Gerard's back, earning him an even bigger sound of protest when he started bouncing up and down. 

"Wakey waaaakey Geeeee."

"Brian you are the spawn of Satan," Gerard mumbled into his pillow, sighing heavily. Brian chuckled and got off of his friend, and Gerard sat up, trying to smooth down his wild hair. It was getting too long again, but he still hadn't bothered cutting it, or even dying it any colour. He was far too busy doing nothing. "I'm glad you're on my side."

Brian nodded, the statement making him smile hugely. He began wondering how much of today's events he should relay to Gerard. Maybe not the punching Patrick in the face part, that would be bad. Also maybe not the beating up of a girl he didnt know part- okay maybe she had kicked his ass. Whatever. Maybe he should just... "Gee, you broke up with Frank, right?"

Gerard gave Brian a dull look, shaking the hair out of his eyes. It didn't do much for him, so Brian rolled his eyes and helped out as best he could, smoothing it off to the sides. He didn't move his hands when he was done though, curling them in Gerard's hair. "Yes I did, actually. For about the fiftieth time."

"You should quit him completely," Brian said, and Gerard was getting a bit concerned. Before he could question his friend's behavior, Brian kissed him, and it lasted all of two seconds but _hoooly **shit**_. Gerard stared at him for a while, trying to get his mouth to work properly.

"Yeah, I think you're right," he managed.  

 

 

"I can't believe you're making us help move you in when you have like, two boxes," Bob muttered, slamming the taxi door with his foot andd walking up the walk to Pete's house. When Patrick tried thankiing him, Bob grumbled something, dumping the box off at the front door. "Voila. Oh there's this Ray Gun Jones poster lying flat under the mattress that Andy said was yours. What do I do with it?"

Pete's expression was screaming **NO.**

So Patrick took it from Bob and ripped it in half. It was nothing but a nasty reminder of the past anyways. 

 

 

After one long, boring recording session, they all finally decided not to go to Doctor Dee's, because tonight was a night of bittersweet celebration and people wanted to be enjoying themselves. Instead, they went to a fancy Chinese restauraunt. "Here's to William Beckett's continued success," Bob announced, raising his glass in a toast that everyone cheerily joined in on. "I can't believe you're moving, dude..."

"I've got a flight on Sunday," William said, and he looked pretty happy for once, he wasn't even sneaking glances at Patrick that often, and when he did, he just smiled and looked away quickly.

Everyone else present looked remotely happy as well, maybe with the exception of Jack, who seemed opposed to Ryan Ross hanging off Alex's arm the way he was. Bob started getting into horror stories about planes crashing as William protested loudly.

"He's gone, but he won't be forgotten," Gerard announced, and yes he was drunk again, and why the fuck was Brian here, he kept shooting Patrick looks. Frank looked miffed because of this. "William will never forget us, guys."

"Why do you guys let him drink?" Ryan asked Alex, who shrugged and mumbled something about it being funny, but Ryan didn't really care about the answer, he put an arm around Alex and leaned his head on his shoulder.

The (gag-worthy) _touching_ scene didn't last long, because Jack was not pleased with it, and he intended to do something about it. He discreetly slid his hand up Alex's thigh under the table and squeezed it hard. This made the other jump and nearly throw Ryan off of him ad knock over his drink. After that little outburst, conversation returned to normal, except Ryan was giving Alex weird looks and Jack looked a lot happier. He hadn't moved his hand.

"Will we ever see you again?" Andy asked, and William smiled sadly and shrugged. 

"Who knows? I hope so, but..."

"Maybe we'll see your face on the t-shirts of every girl in the country," Pete put in, and it made William giggle. 

"I hope so!"

And Patrick took Pete's hand under the table and leaned his head against his shoulder, and the moment was _almost_ perfect. 


	9. Versus the Universe!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard is pretty honest.

All anyone ever seemed to want to do in life was complain about Ryan Ross' parties. It was a favourite passtime among the group, even if there wasn't even anything to complain about, really. Well, nothing except maybe the sheer quantity of the parties, because there seemed to be one every other day since Ryan moved into his fancy new apartment that he shared with like, seven other people Patrick didn't even know. Ryan was popular, if he was nothing else.  

If Patrick remembered correctly, this was a Day of the Dead party, he's pretty sure that's what Jack had said it was. That or maybe Halloween, but he was pretty sure Jack would have been a bit nicer in describing it if it was Halloween, and Frank would be a lot more excited than he was. Maybe it wasn't Halloween. Who even knew anymore. All Patrick knew was that he had on a suit with a cartoon skull pinned over his heart that Alex Gaskarth had procured from somewhere and it was pretty snazzy and Pete's tie was a little bit ridiculous. It was red and had black cats and white dog hair on it, so hopefully it was actually Halloween and he wasn't just out of place. 

Ryan's new apartment was pretty fucking huge, so just about everybody and their cat had shown up to the mystery celebration. Half of the partygoers were probably just as confused about the theme as Patrick and Friends, but there seemed to be a lot of skeletons and black around, so maybe some people were getting the hint? There was a great view from way up here on the fourth floor, but that was about all that could be said about the place, because Patrick would rather not have his foot stepped on seventy times in ten minutes. There were way too many people here, but when had that ever stopped Ryan before? 

"I'm really getting sick of these themed parties," Patrick told Pete, who was fiddling with his awkward tie for about the seventieth time, too agitated with it to properly respond.

"I don't like them either," Bob added, and Patrick might have believed him if he looked a little bit less happy about wearing his black marching band uniform from college out of the house for a reason. Alex refused to be seen with him in public if he had it on, but Gerard seemed to like it quite a bit. Patrick didn't blame him for wanting to wear it, because he himself quite liked it. It honestly looked good on him.

Patrick had just switched his trucker hat for a trilby and put proper glasses on, and that was about all the effort he'd put in. Pete had done his hair and everything, but he always did that, the suit was the only thing making him look any classier. The tie didn't help.

Bob looked around them at all the people dressed in pretty colours and dark suits, and rolled his eyes. "I mean, last week there was... What was it again? The American Revolution?"

"I died during that one," Pete put in helpfully, and Patrick had to think about that.

"No, you died during the Titanic themed one, I died in the American Revolution one because Ryan stabbed me in the back. What was the last one?"

"Halloween," Bob said dryly, taking a sip of the drink he had in his hand, because Bob could never stomach a Ryan Ross party anymore without some sort of alcohol in his system. Patrick figured he'd be the same if he didn't have Pete to keep him from throwing himself over the balcony to get away. These parties were only ever tolerable when Alex forced Jack to come with him because Jack was funny when he was drunk and usually got kicked out- taking all of them with him by association. 

Jack was not here now, it was going to suck. 

"What party is this then? I thought this was Halloween." Patrick decided it must be a Day of the Dead party after all. He still needed concrete clarification.

"Alex doesn't have his animal head on, it can't be Halloween- shit, would you _look_ at Ryan Ross right now. He looks like a fucking pimp." Bob seemed seriously perterbed by Ryan's red felt suit and his wide brimmed hat with a plume- who even wore clothes like that? They all shuffled away from that general area because, what the fuck, _no_. "This is a Day of the Dead party, not whatever he's thinking of."  

Pete also took a long sip of his drink. He did not look happy to be here at all. "This party sucks," he informed Bob and Patrick, who had to nod in agreement because this party _did_ suck a lot, and nothing interesting had even happened yet. At least last time Frank and Gerard had had a huge fight and that had been kind of interesting, and the time before that Alex had been so drunk that he started talking about the solar system and Jack had convinced him that pulling all his clothes off had been a good idea. They had used him as an excuse to go home. But now? Nothing. 

"But what would you do if you weren't at this party?" Bob asked them, and he was letting his eyes wander, making him sound more cryptic than he was actually being. "We'd have absolutely nothing to complain about."

Pete and Patrick had to agree on that one at least. This was all they ever did at parties, sitting or standing around being as cynical as Bob was every day, with the occasional makeout session that usually led to Patrick and Pete leaving or going upstairs. But even Bob seemed more irritated than usual, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing dramatically. "I need to get out of here before the stupidity catches. I value my intelligence."

"I'd join you," Pete said quietly, taking another sip of his drink and slanting his gaze to the side nervously. "But the past is catching up to me at the moment." He tilted his head to the side, motioning to the back of the room. Bob looked over and his eyes widened because holy shit? "Ex-boyfriends over yonder."

"Boyfriends plural?" Patrick squeaked, looking all around for shady looking figures and- okay, wow, those two looked kind of really fabulous like, damn. One of them had hair so perfect that it was ruining Bob's self esteem just looking at him. He was shocked back into his senses when Patrick started talking again. "Pete, that's a lot of eyeliner."

**[Jared Leto. Needs to do something about that scarf.] [Shannon Leto. Nice eyebrows.]**

The two brothers were standing in the back corner, talking amongst themselves in a hushed tone that Patrick and Friends couldn't hear from all the way over here. They kind of looked really attractive from a distance, and Patrick felt immediately intimidated, ducking behind Pete a bit. "Shannon and Jared Leto, the brothers Hayley warned you about," Pete sighed, downing the rest of his drink because what was the point of savoring it if he had to deal with this amount of aggrivation. It was too early and he was too sober and UGH. 

"What are they doing here?" Patrick hissed as Pete and Bob dragged him towards the brothers, who straightened and smirked when they approached. The perfect hair one adjusted his scarf and the other shoved his hands in his pockets, nudging his brother with his elbow.  

"Well, well," scarf-Jared said, and Patrick grabbed hold of Pete's arm because _shit,_ he did _not_ want to deal with this. Then again, nobody did, just especially not Patrick who looked like this encounter was going to scar him for life in some way. "Here's Pete Wentz. How lovely."

"Damned if he looks any different," Shannon put in helpfully, and Pete rolled his eyes. Flattery was never appreciated where Pete was concerned. "The one cowering behind him must be Patrick then."

"Terrifying. I'm quaking in my boots." Jared raised an eyebrow, and Bob crossed his arms over his chest, because he was not being addressed and he felt like he should. Like, where was his introduction to this conversation. No sarcastic remark about the squinty cynic to Pete's left? No? Okay. Seriously, he was a person too, dammit.

Patrick scooted out from behind Pete, pulling his hat over his eyes- oh god now that they were looking at him head on he felt like running. "So, um... I have to fight you now... Right?" 

The brothers looked at each other, their smug smirks widening with amusement before they both looked back at Patrick and, okay, their in-sync... ness was a bit creepy. "Fight _you?_ " Jared said, sounding like he was supressing a laugh. "Why would _we_ fight _you?_ "

"We're not barbarians, and you're hardly worth our time anyways," Shannon added, and Patrick was confused. Usually these encounters were quick and violent, and they'd jump into battle immediately after a long-winded, arrogant speech from his adversary and a hasty, sheepish explanation from Pete as to why he'd been dating them in the first place.

Not so much now. Patrick stood and watched as Jared procured a cell phone out of his pocket and typed out a number, pointing it at the balcony doors like a remote control. The glass doors slipped open, and in walked a tall, bald man with a nose like a beak and squinty brown eyes and... The fuck was he wearing. It had more ruffles than an old woman's house, jesus christ- he pulled a white ray gun out of nowhere and pointed it at Patrick.

 

 

**[Korse has joined the party!]**

Patrick tried very hard not to scream and settled on running as the rest of them watched. The crowd had formed a neat circle and were starting to chant. _Fight, fight, fight!_

Bob had to stand there and watch Jared and Shannon giving Pete these _looks_... It was kind of really nauseating, so he turned his attention to an increasingly frantic Patrick who was running around in circles to avoid ray gun beams.

"Look at you all dolled up," Jared said with that bemused tone that even Bob was starting to hate, and Pete threw his hands up. Bob squeezed Pete's shoulder as a reminder, to keep him civil. "You still look good too. Is this whole emo thin still in style anymore?" Jared went on, and Shannon chimed in almost immediately. 

"Are you settling in here okay? You've been here a while. Are you sure you don't miss-"

"At the risk of hearing a stupid sob story about Pete Wentz's life, I'm out of here." Bob pulled Pete along with him, because god knew what he'd do without supervision. "We'll talk to you later or something." With one final look back to see if Patrick was alive, (he was,) Bob pulled Pete out onto the balcony to simmer down a little bit. It was dark out, and smoky out there, but it was still a hell of a lot better than being indoors with aaaall that aggrivation and heartbreak and shit. Pete pulled a bottle of alcohol out of his bag as soon as they were out, cracking it open as Bob watched. 

"They seem kind of pretentious. You've dated some real assholes, haven't you, Pete?" Bob said quietly, staring down at the ground below them. Pete laughed bitterly and took a swig of his drink.

"Yeah, but who hasn't?" And Bob smirked at that, but he didn't respond, just shrugged like sure, everyone dates jerks. Patrick was a jerk, or he had been, at least. Rian was a jerk, moreso now than ever. Bob had luck like Pete's when it came to boyfriends.

Pete held the bottle out but Bob just shook his head, refocusing on the ground. Pete leaned against the railing, searching to find what Bob was looking for. "Is Patrick okay in there?" 

"Of course he's okay, he's Patrick Stump." And Ryan Ross stepped out onto the balcony just to tell them all that a robot-man was kicking a guy's ass if anyone wanted to watch. Pete looked back worriedly, but Bob patted him on the back. "He's fine, just think about something else for a change, would you?"

Pete scratched his chin, then took another swig, passing the bottle to Bob who accepted it this time. "Whatever happened to your band, Bob? When did you break up?"

"We never broke up. We're _recording_. Which is the equivalent of being dragged across hot coals on your bare back."

"Charming. I was there most of the time too, you know. I feel it."

"I _need_ my drums."

"Just punch a guy instead. The feeling's the same, I'm told."

"I'll just kill everyone," Bob said, taking another drink as Pete pulled his phone out of his bag, making a face. That was an "Andy-Hurley-is-sending-messages-to-his-old-roommate-through-me" face. He stared at the glowing screen for six seconds before snapping his phone closed and grumbling something about _that_ being the gayest thing he had ever read. Bob just kept quiet and drank his booze, passing it back to Pete when he sighed heavily.

 

 

Alex Gaskarth was in a bad mood because Jack Barakat had left him alone to be at this party, and also because Gerard Way kept hanging around him for _no good reason._  But alas, Gerard did not need to know any of that. Gerard was dressed similarly to Bob, and okay, he did look quite nice. But he also looked a lot more gloomy, leaning up against the back of the couch with his shoulders hunched like a moody teenager. Which was kind of what he was. Alex looked over at him, and Gerard sighed. "Why aren't you guys playing?"

"Did I ever tell you Ryan Ross hates me?" 

"Once or twice." Gerard kicked his feet, more focused on the fight between Patrick and the crazy cyborg man. Korse was kind of kicking Patrick's ass (literally) at the moment, knocking Patrick to the floor and making Alex and Gerard wince. But Alex got over it quickly, Gerard's worried look persisted.

Being kind of drunk and kind of curious at the same time always put Alex in a bad mood. Which he took out on Gerard. "Are you still pining for Patrick? Aren't you dating Brian or whoever now?"

"I mean-" Gerard cut himself off with a grimace when Korse punched Patrick in the stomach. Hard. Patrick made a strangled sound and staggered back a step, doubling over. Gerard looked away again before anything worse could happen. "I mean he just seems so happy- it's going to take me a while to be happy like that!"

Alex rolled his eyes. "He cheated on you, Gerard, you know that right? You were easy, and he needed something easy so he was dating you and as _soon_ as Pete showed up that was that." He finished off his beer, refusing to look over at Gerard's devestated expression, because he knew it was there and he knew it was a little bit depressing. "He cheated on you and tried to forget about it. You should forget about it. Its been like, ten months since you broke up anyways, right?"

" _Seven_ ," Gerard mumbled, running his hand through his hair. And then a thought came to him. "... Has Pete forgotten about it too?" Patrick had gained the upper hand in his battle to the death, punching Korse in the nose and sending him stumbling back, but Gerard was no longer paying attention to the battle, he was focused entirely on the feeling of anger that was rising- damn, Brian was already rubbing off on him. "Pete doesn't even know about it, does he?"

Alex didn't answer, and before Gerard could press him for that answer, they were drowned out by cheering. Korse was sprawled out on the floor and Patrick had his fist half-way through the cyborg's chest. He took a moment for Korse's twitching to subside before straightening and pulling his hat down over his eyes sheepishly against the applause around him. He didn't really want to be the centre of attention, but the way he was acting was kind of cute-

Gerard pulled at his hair, exasperated.

 

 

"Should I actually cut my hair?" Pete asked, and Patrick shrugged. The two of them were standing around in the cramped kitchen, too lazy today to make too much of an effort and tooo poor to go out to eat. So instead they were making macaroni and cheese, because who didn't like living off that?

"I mean like. I like your hair. If it was short I'd still like it." Patrick smiled, going back to rifling through the drawers for measuring cups. "You have really awesome hair anyways."

Pete smiled at the pot he was stirring. "What if I cut it like Brendon's?"

That gave Patrick pause, and he froze momentarily before smiling uneasily and setting the measuring cups on the counter, going through the fridge next. _Red flag._ "Why are you bringing Brendon up?"

"Do you ever think about Bendon?" Pete wondered, and Patrick bit his lip. Was Pete on an ex-boyfriends trip? He'd been a bit... odd lately. Nothing serious, but it was noticeable... Patrick fought back the urge to ask if this was concerning the letter adressed to _Gabe_ in his desk, next to Mikey's ray gun he always kept in there. Maaaybe this was not the time to bring it up though. 

Patrick laughed it off, putting that thought in the very back of his mind. He had to trust his boyfriend. Yeah, that was it. "Why are you asking about Brendon all of a sudden?" 

Pete shrugged, tapping the end of his wooden spoon on the edge of the pot and setting it down before giving Patrick a half-smile. "I dunno, you just seemed to get over him really quickly."

Well now would be a good time to bring up the letter then? "Well, do you ever think about-" 

"That must be your superpower, Patrick, forgetting about _alllll_ the bad things that ever happened to you." 

"It's taken a long time..." Patrick insisted, tugging uneasily at the brim of his hat that Pete swiftly removed, holding it away when Patrick reached for it and giving him a little kiss to the forehead. It made Patrick feel a bit better about the situation, helped clear the doubt that was settling in nicely at the back of his mind with the letter to Gabe. He grabbed Pete by the shoulders and swept the hair out of his eyes, kissing him properly.

"Plus I've got you now," Patrick said when Pete broke off, looking at the floor. Pete nodded and looked away, his mind somewhere elsewhere entirely.

 

 

Alex Gaskarth and Jack Barakat were forever fighting. Like an old married couple, Bob usually thought. And usually it was amusing, sure. Most times it was amusing. Just not when they'd been sitting in Jack's room until the sun went down and the glaring lights of his computer screen started giving Bob a headache.

Bob was almost asleep with his head in Patrick's lap while Jack and Alex bickered away, and every five minutes Patrick would ask to hear the fucking song, only to be denied by Alex, who was more high strung than a jackrabbit on cocaine and it was seriously stressing Bob out. He just wanted to sleep now. The excitement had worn off about five hours ago. Bob didn't even care about the song anymore. Patrick was comfortable, and almost asleep himself. "Can we leave?" Bob asked, and his simple request seemed to set Jack off, because he turned to Alex and pointed. 

"He needs to go," Jack said, and Alex gave him a blank look.

"Bob lives here."

"I don't care, make him go."

In an attempt to keep everyone happy at the same time, Alex grabbed his guitar and called for an emergency band practice in Bob's room. They sat there in the state of dreaming for about five minutes because they hadn't had band practice in a few months and they were kind of out of practice. After just one song everyone was in a terrible, terrible mood, and figured they should all just quit while they were ahead. Bob wasn't even sure why band practice was suddenly an issue when-

"We have a show," Alex said, and Bob nearly fell off his stool, Patrick startling to a more alert state of consciousness. "Ryan set us up. Did I mention he hates me?"

"Once or twice," Bob said numbly. They were doomed. They were so totally doomed.

 

 

Pete was acting kind of off for the next few days, and that meant Patrick was kind of off for the next few days. Pete had begun spacing out a whole lot more, responding in monosyllables half the time and staring off into the open air when Patrick was prattling on about something he wasn't particularly interested in instead of making fun of it. It was making Patrick nervous, because he had no idea what it was about. Was Pete fighting with Gerard again? He hadn't even been _that_ mad last time...

It didn't make any sense. Usually the first thing Patrick would do was bring the issue up with Andy, but Andy was busy with Andy things most days and they weren't sleeping together anymore, so there was no time in the day. And, as Patrick found out, Alex Gaskarth was _**no** fucking help_ when it came to relationship issues. Alex was only interested in Alex things like their shitty band and teaching Patrick to properly dice onions, which was what he was trying to teach Patrick at the time. 

But Patrick was not interested in talking about the band or learning to dice onions. Not in the sweltering heat back here and certainly not when his boyfriend was mad at him for no apparent reason. Was Pete mad at him? Or someone else? What if Pete was mad at someone else and it was bugging him so much he couldnt stop thinking about it, what if that was it? 

"Did you book work off for the show?" Alex asked over the roar of the blender, and Patrick groaned. He did not want to play a show. Bob didn't either, and hell, even _Alex_ was still second guessing the decision to go through with this. They sucked. Soo bad. They all knew it, everyone knew it. Why hadn't Alex cancelled out yet? But Patrick nodded anyways, and Alex cut the blender, looking over Patrick's shoulder in a disapproving sort of manner that Patrick did not appreciate. "Patrick you're doing it wrong."

"How do you cut onions wrong?" The onion gas was burning his eyes. He stepped back when Alex wrenched the knife out of his hand haphazardly, sighing heavily. Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the counter next to Alex, who finished cutting the offending onion for him. "Hey you think if someone has one secret do they have a lot of secrets?"

"I don't want to talk about secrets. All I want to talk about is the band and our jobs because I'm not your stupid roommate and I don't want to deal wih your problems, Patrick Stump."

Ouch. "What if I wanted to talk about Jack Barakat."

"I don't want to talk about Jack Barakat either." Alex ground his teeth, nearly driving the knife through the cutting board. He wasn't in the best of moods either because Jack was moody and they had a show to play in two days and they _totally_ sucked. "You can talk about the band or your job, Patrick, or you could DO your job and be quiet."

Patrick chose the latter.

 

 

Two days later, Alex Gaskarth was in a bling and utter panic backstage. Not that he wasn't usually when they had to play a show, it was just worse today. At least he wasn't throwing up. Bob stayed with him, but Patrick wanted no part of that at all. Somehow he ended up wedged between Jon Walker and Dallon Weekes at the bar, where he didn't really want to be.

"I thought you guys broke up." **[Dallon Weekes. A guy. Relatively unimportant, but cute all the same.]**

For a long time, Patrick thought Dallon meant him and Pete, and that was distressing. Then he remembered he was in a band that hadn't even practiced for months, never mind played a show. He gave Dallon a dull look. "Apparently not."

"You guys haven't even played in a year or something." **[Jon Walker. Another guy. Kind of unimpotant. Also kind of cute.]**

Patrick snorted. "Try three months!" 

"Last show you played was when you opened for Ray Gun Jones, right?" Dallon said, and Patrick closed his eyes against the ferocious onslaught of bad memories and kind-of-good music. Patrick just removed himself from the situation before Jon an Dallon started on about how great that fight between Pete and Brendon had been or how awesome the gun that Mikey had given him was. He went to panic backstage with Bob and Alex instead. Alex was apparently being terrorized by Ryan Ross _and_ Jack Barakat all at the same time, but Bob was back there lurking in the shadows, so Patrick joined him. Bob gave him a beer.

They were so fucking doomed. 

 

 

Pete Wentz was only minding his own business in the boy's bathroom. He wasn't bothering anyone, just fixing his eyeliner. So _what the fuck_ was Gerard Way so mad about when he walked in, arms crossed over his chest, scowl fixed on his face. It wasn't anything _new_. Was he not over all of this yet? _Jesus_.

Pete decided he missed the days where Gerard had his silly red hair, because scowling the way he was now, he looked kind of serious. Pete glared at him in the mirror, then went back to fixing his eyeliner. "What." 

Gerard's scowl turned into a bored, nonchalant thing that wasn't fooling Pete, and he tilted his head to the side a bit. "We need to talk." 

 _Really._ "Talk then," Pete said, trying and failing to keep the annoyance out of his voice. 

"I don't know how to put this lightly."

"Well, take your time, princess."

In about a second, Gerard's ray gun was out, and he literally shot the eyeliner out of a shocked Pete's hand. It clattered to the floor, smouldering as Pete tried to regain his bearings. He didn't exactly have long, Gerard swings a punch at him, which whizzes by his shoulder as he dodges.

"OH WHAT THE FUCK GERARD. THAT WAS THE EXPENSIVE SHIT." Another punch swung over his head and Pete growled under his breath. It was too cramped in here to do anything and he had no statues to ruin. He briefly considered ripping a door off a bathroom stall. No time for that.

"I JUST WANTED TO TALK TO YOU AND YOU'RE ACTING LIKE A DICK." Well, that was true enough. Not that Pete particularly cared. 

"If you're still fighting me for Patrick it's getting ridiculous-" Gerard kicked Pete in the side, cracking him against the wall. Uh, ow? There was a moment where Pete could regain his balance, grab the front of Gerard's blue leather jacket and slam him into the wall as hard as he could manage, making the younger yelp in pain. "He's over it, Gerard Way. Soon you're going to be a bad dream like Brendon Urie. So quit acting so pathetic and leave me alone." 

Pete let go of Gerard, let him slide down the wall and crumple on the floor, shaking lightly and breathing hard. His hair covered his eyes, but his voice shook when he spoke, even if his words rang loud and clear.

"He cheated on us," Gerard looked up, bottom lip trembling a bit and oh god, _what?_   "Patrick cheated on us both." The world has gone totally silent. Pete feels cold, his eyes widening slowly- no way was Hayley right, no. Patrick wouldn't- Gerard's face, shit. 

_Shit._

It took a while before Pete could actually work his mouth at all. He stuck his hands in his pockets and bowed his head, controlling his tone carefully. "I uh... I've gotta. Go. Now."

Gerard didn't say anything, so Pete decided that was his cue to leave after he got his legs working, out of the bathroom and back out into the overheated comfort of the crowd. The terrible music outside had stopped, and he got back just in time to see his (apparently cheating) boyfriend decapitate a robot with his bass.

Immediately, Bob exits the stage because, what the _fuck._ Patrick's got a smashed up bass and this wasn't even supposed to be a show anyways, Ryan just wanted to watch a robot kick Patrick's ass again as an act of petty spite. Bob comes back on briefly to pull a bewildered Alex offstage with him, mumbling something about Patrick fucking everything up always. 

Patrick stood up properly, kicking the severed robot head off the stage and smiling at Pete, who felt so sick he wanted to throw up, but he managed a somewhat-convincing smile anyways.

This was horrible and it felt horrible, but Pete stood there until everyone got their collective shit together and regrouped, exiting the building with the rest of the crowd and cursin Ryan Ross' name.

It was cold outside, and only Patrick seemed to be in a good mood. If looks could kill, Bob was certainly capable, and Alex looked distraught. Well they had kind of gone up there and blown it, but at least now he knew better than to never have band practice ever because they were recording. Gerard hadn't spoken a word- Pete seemed kind of fine. Mostly out of it, plodding along beside Bob and noticing everything that wasn't Patrick.

"Hey Pete? I forgot my keys again. Do you have yours? Please say yes." Patrick grinned when Pete looked sideways at him, smiling just a little bit.

"I said I'd lock you out next time you forgot your keys, Lunchbox. Looks like you'll be sleeping outside tonight." There's something. Something in the way he says that that makes Patrick's smile fade a little bit, something that tells him that something is up. That something is up and he shouldn't question it. He kept protesting half-heartedly as they walked, oh, I'm with you, that makes it alright, right? And Pete just smirked. 

In his other hand, Patrick was texting Andy on Pete's phone. He didn't want to be a nuisance tonight. 

 

 

"Sorry that Pete Wentz kicked you out of your house," was the first thing Andy said to Patrick when he walked in the door, and Patrick nearly started crying right then and there, so Andy guided him through his fantastic new apartment to the island in the kitchen, settling Patrick in a nice high stool and setting a pre-made mug of coffee in front of him. Patrick grumbled, taking a sip.

"He just needs his space. What do you care, anyways? Where's Spencer?"

"Called in with Mikey and Gerard to fight crime in the desert. You should stop causing drama, Patrick, he's getting sick of hearing about how awful you are from your ex high-school boyfriend." Andy helped himself to a chocolate-chip cookie and Patrick made a face at his coffee, fighting back the urge to tell Andy to not call Gerard that. He'd only do it more often if Patrick asked. "He's out for a few days, so we can sleep together all we want."

"You have a couch," Patrick pointed out, but Andy just gave him a dull look and yeah, crashing on the couch wasn't going to happen, no. 

Andy smirked when Patrick sighed miserably, knowing he'd caused it, and sat up on the island beside Patrick. "So, we should talk about things I know you want to talk about now since you never fuckig talk to me anyways. What do you know about those brothers?"

"Jared and Shannon Leto," Patrick said, and the names themselves made him feel a little worse about his situation. "They're perfect. Literally."

"Patrick, that's not true. I'm the only one who is perfect." Andy patted his friend on the shoulder and hopped off the island, disappearing into the other room for a second. "I did work one miracle though, and this took a while so you better be fucking impressed." Andy set down one of his brown-folder dossiers on the island in front of Patrick. " _Gabriel Eduardo Saporta_ , the final boss of your love life."  

"Never say that again," Patrick mumbled, opening the file and looking through it. None of the pictures were totally in focus, and Gabe was wearing sunglasses in every single one of them. The first was him in a crowd of people, and Andy had circled his head and underlined it twice with red marker. Thanks, Andy. The second picture was him on the street with earbuds in- and glasses, still glasses. Head hung low, shouders hunched- and still he looked totally intimidating. Third was him completely surrounded by people, a pretty looking girl on his arm and a brilliant smile on his face.  

The fourth one had a scowling Pete in the background, right over his shoulder. Patrick made an involuntary choking sound at that one. Andy patted him on the shoulder, grabbing himself another cookie. "So what are you going to do once these last few boyfriends kick the bucket, huh? Are you guys going to get secretly married? Move to Canada?"

"Who the _fuck_ moves to Canada, Andy?"

"Patrick, have you given it any thought at all? What happens when the game ends?"

Patrick just shrugged. He didn't really know either. 

 

 

"I hate cold," Pete said, shivering in his sweater, rubbing his arms. Bob shrugged. He was used to the cold by now, he feels like Pete is being a bit dramatic about the weather outside. It's brisk, it's not the end of the world.

"Move to Mexico," he said simply, and Pete smirked, sipping his coffee thoughtfully. This seemed too normal for either of them, probably because Patrick and Alex weren't there. It was weird being in the presence of Pete Wentz without Patrick attached at his hip, Bob had decided. 

"This looks like a date, doesn't it, Bryar?"

"Two incredibly attractive and heterosexual men sitting in a coffee shop together? Scandalous." Bob leaned his chin on his hand,  mirroring Pete's amused look. Yeah, this was weird. But it was okay. "Start making eyes at me and it's official."

"Where have you been all my life," Pete said. 

"Well I was with your esteemed boyfriend all day yesterday, for starters." Bob and Patrick had met to go looking for Alex and have band practice. Alas, Frank Iero had been all alone in that dark, depressing house, smoking cigarettes in the living room like Alex hated. Three guesses where he was right now. Bob wasn't really sure he cared about Alex right now, because Patrick was right, Pete was acting really weird, tapping his fingers on the tabvle and fidgeting and getting lost in space so badly Bob had to snap to get his attention back.  

And then suddenly Patrick was there and behind Boband Pete nearly jumped out of his skin. "Woah, fancy seeing you two here," Patrick laughed, and it was actually a spontaneous meeting. "I was talking to Joe- he's been staring at you guys for a while, I don't know if you'd noticed?" Patrick looked back at his sort-of-brother, who was looking really disgruntled about the whole Bob and Pete situation. His expression was comical.

"You guys look totally gay right now," Patrick informed them, and Pete smiled a bit, but there was something off about it too and it was really bugging Bob now. 

"You might as well sit down or whatever, unless you want to invite Joe over," Pete said. He really didn't mind Joe at all. 

"No," Patrick said firmly, looking back and giving Joe a little wave as he sat down beside Bob, settling in. He took Bob's untouched cookie too, the bastard. 

"Yeah well, we're talking about boys who aren't you," Bob said, glaring at Patrick, who ate the cookie very slowly, not breaking eye contact with his friend the entire time. 

"Well now we are, at least. What happened with you and Rian anyways?" Bob's expression darkend as soon as the question was posed, and Pete regretted asking it a little bit. Things had been going so well too... Patrick looked a little surprised, pausing the destruction of Bob's cookie for a moment. 

"You were dating Rian?"

Pete nearly smacked his head off the table and Bob groaned and did just that. Like it wasn't fucking obvious. "Patrick you are literally clueless," Pete grumbled. "Anyways. Did it not work out?"

"Oh, it worked out for Rian and Matt, sure." Pete winced, and Patrick frowned, pushing Bob's half eaten cookie across the table to him in an act of pity. It didn't really lighten the mood at all. "I really hate drummers. But we live in the same house, so it's really really awkward."

"...Jeez, Bob, that's awful," Patrick sighed, taking the cookie back when it was apparent Bob wasn't interested in it.

"Yeah well. It happens. People do stupid things." 

That's approximately when it started, when Pete rapped his knuckles on the surface of the table and got that familiar look on his face, and the darkness around his head started closing in. Patrick nearly spit out his cookie and Bob's mouth fell open. 

"...Pete your head," Bob said, and it made Pete defensive immediately, made him pull up his hood and slouch further in his seat. It didn't do much to quell the cloud of black over his head, however. Patrick hastily changed the subject.

"Uh, I slept over with Bob last night. It was fun, right Bob?" He nudged his friend with his elbow, and Bob shrugged. 

"Um... Sure. He just slept on the couch- seriously Pete, your head-" It was very distracting. 

"Yeah and where were you last night- There's nothing wrong with my head!" Pete insisted, pulling his hood down over his eyes. It was a very _Patrick_ thing to do in a moment of insecurity such as this. 

"Uh I was with Andy-"

"YOU WERE SLEEPING WITH ANDY?" Patrick nearly fell out of his chair. The entire cafe was staring, Pete was halfway standing in his seat and Joe was contemplating going in for backup. This was getting out of hand.

"No I was-" This was way too distracting, it was even bothering Patrick now. "Pete, seriously, your head."

"IT'S FINE." 

"No literally something is up," Bob was torn between reaching out to... do something, pet Pete's hair or pat his shoulder or punch him, he didn't even know what he was doing or what he was supposed to be doing. This was getting bad. 

"NO!"

"Pete what does it even mean?" Bob's question calmed Pete down a bit somehow, and he flopped back into his chair, drinking his coffee quite angrily. Bob had gone quiet, looking around absently like he didn't know them and he was only at this table because he had no other choice. 

"Just shut up about it, okay? Just..."

Patrick nodded. Great, he'd probably made things worse. "Okay..."

 

 

Nobody was even sure about the theme of Ryan's next party, but everyone was devestatingly formal all the same. Which was a fancy way of saying that everyone looked like fancy assholes. But the party was really boring, and Pete was late, actually running in to try and get to the balcony before Patrick or the brothers recognized him. He lost his resove when he nearly knocked over a little dude-

"Sorry- Oh, hi Frank?" Well it was nice to see at least one familiar face that he was growing to hate. Frank brushed it off quickly enough, but Pete was now more focused on the girl on his arm. "Who's that? I thought you were dating Gerard?"

"No he has a new boyfriend now," Frank informed Pete, who made a face.

"....Well _shit._ " 

"Right? He's an asshole."

"He is. And so are you," Pete grumbled as he walked away, Frank flipping him off as he went. Not like he cared.  

Well, there's Patrick. Ryan is laughing at him, Jared and Shannon were setting another robot on them. Dear god, no. Pete was not in the mood. 

"I figured you might need this, Wentz." God, if Pete needed to hear Jared Leto's fucking voice one more time, he was going to kill a man. His grip on the balcony rail tightened until his knuckles were white, and he tried to talk as calmly as he could through teeth clenched to straining. This was a bullshit amount of stress that he didn't need. 

"Whoop de fuckin' do, asshole the original coming to save the day." He turned just to glare at Jared who was- oh. A bottle of booze, yes please. Pete snatched it off him, cradling it against his chest as he looked back over the balcony huffily. "You know me soooo well."

"I figured you might want to act like Pete Wentz for a bit, instead of this fluffy bunny act you're putting on for your pathetc boyfriend." Jared shrugged, waiting just long enough to see the effect of his words in Pete's hunched shoulders before turning to go back inside, stopping just outside the door. "This daydream of yours is coming to an end, Wentz. Enjoy it while it lasts, because real life is waiting." And then he was gone, and Pete was alone with his thoughts as everything got a little darker-

**_Click_ **

 

 


	10. Versus Patrick!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit.

Bob had to wait a long time for Pete to calm down. 

He'd gotten Pete off the balcony and brought him inside, figuring a change of scenery would be nice. It was also a way to limit the chances of Jared and Shannon showing up and sending Pete into beserker mode. The two of them went upstairs to a bedroom that wasn't already occupied, (It had taken a couple of tries to find one and yeah, Bob wasn't going to get the mental image of Frank and whoever _James_ was out of his head for possibly forever) and sat him on the bed until the void of darkness on his head had calmed down a bit before showing him the picture he had snapped on the balcony. He passed his phone over to Pete, who stared down at his own face shrouded by the void-y thundercloud and frowned. 

"What is that?" Bob wanted to know, and Pete shoook his head, passing Bob's phone back to him. 

"Hell if I know." He sounded like he did know, and that nonchalant shrug was a bit too nonchalant.

"Or you know and you're not telling me," Bob said, eyes flickering to the bottle of booze that Jared had provided. Pete was still clutching it for dear life. 

"I do know, but I can't tell you." And suddenly it was uncapped.

"Okay," Bob said quietly. 

Pete took a nice long sip of alcohol and made a face- hell if that wasn't the worst thing he'd ever tasted, but he swallowed it down anyways. _Fuck_ , that burned. He passed the bottle over to Bob, who considered it for a moment before actually taking it. 

A few sips drunker is about the time when Patrick came in, when Bob and Pete were giggling about college. He sat himself down on the bed and joined in with the drinking almost immediately, which was weird because he was usually the designated driver for the car none of them actually had. 

About twenty minutes later he was lying at the end of the bed while Pete snuggled with Bob. They were tangled together in all sorts of ways, and a part of Patrick's mind -the tiny, sober prt at the back- had to wonder if this would turn out like the trip to the beach. He was having mixed feelings about that. 

Pete sighed, pressing his face into the crook of Bob's neck and wiggling himself closer. "Rickster, I'm sorry you have to keep fighting those assholes by the way," he muttered, and Patrick shrugged. He was pretty used to fighting assholes by now. It was the _robots_ he didn't like.

"Did you ever date anyone who wasn't an asshole?" Bob asked, resting his chin on the top of Pete's head.

"Does your Mom count?"  

"Oooooo," Patrick snickered, and Bob nodded. 

"Yeah she counts."

"Well there was her and then there was this guy Brent. He was a dick though." Pete sighed wistfully and made a face. "He dumped me."

"That makes Patrick double the dick, right? He didn't even dump me he just moved away."

"He's a dick," Pete muttered, rolling over and Bob grabbed him around the waist, pulling him closer. "I like his dick."

"Topic change," Patrick announced, making the other two laugh. He was curled up by Pete's legs, with his jacket missing and his hat on the floor. His hair was messy and his glasses were off-centre. It was cute. "This is like fucking _high school_ isn't it Bob. But y'know. Without William _Beckett_."

"I should go back to school," Bob muttered into Pete's neck, making him giggle and squirm, and giggle like a girl. "I'm going to be a zoological anthropologist."

"I'm going to be a cheerleader," Pete put in. "Gonna wear a skirt and everything."

"I'm going to be a rapper," Patrick informed them and they lapsed into silence until Patrick pulled himself up beside them, and they all sat up and finished the bottle off. 

Soon they were _much_ less clothed and Pete was in _that mood_ that seemed to happen when he got drunk, and Patrick was having war flashbacks to Bob and Gerard. Though if that happened now with Pete, he probably wouldn't mind watching. Ryan Ross' bed was huge and comfortable, and he also wouldn't mind staying here forever with his two favourite people in the world. 

"Pete is that your hand in my pants or is it Patrick's," Bob wanted to know, because it was really hard to tell what belonged to who at the moment. Bob was sandwiched between Patrick and Pete, and there was a whole lot of extra touching going on.

"Sorry," Patrick offered, pressing his face against Bob's back. Nobody really cared though. There was more silence, mostly because Pete had taken to kissing Bob quite passionately. He broke off mercifully quick though, mostly just so he could cuddle him more efficiently. 

"Bob Bryar, where have you been all my life?" Pete sighed wistfully.

They lay there for about an hour, making no sense at all and hugging and kissing and... other stuff, until someone- nobody remembered who- pointed out the fact that the white noise downstairs had subsided, and maybe Ryan Ross wouldn't appreciate them having a threesome in his bed. Especially not after last time, at the beach. That had been pretty horrible for everyone, and the only good that had come of it was that Ryan would shut up if you brought it up.

Patrick was pretty sure this wasn't the shirt he'd been wearing when they came in, but he didn't really care. He had to help Pete do up his shirt, and even then they were having a rough time of it. Patrick wasn't even sure he was doing it right, and Pete interrupted him half-way up by grabbing his hands and giving him a full-on kiss that lasted about a minute before Bob started voicing his protest.

Shoes were another issue, shoes and stairs, but with those done, the three of them hobbled out into the cold night, Pete's arms thrown over Bob and Patrick's shoulders as they meandered along the sidewalk, singing drunkenly.

Before they were even halfway done _Womanizer_ , Patrick leaned heavily into Bob's side. "Hey, hey. Come sleep in our bed. Come on, it'll be fun."

"I'll have to pass. A repeat of the beach house isn't something I want to be a part of." He gave the side of Patrick's head a sloppy kiss. "Thank you though. I gotta get home. Gotta catch the train."

Bob stopped and turned to face them, grabbing them both into a crushing hug before waving goodbye and heading off on his own with his hands in his pockets. Or the pockets of whoever''s jacket this was. Probably Pete's.

About two minutes into the walk, the smile slipped off Bob's face and he regretted not taking up Pete and Patrick's offer. There was nothing for him at home but listening to Alex and Jack, and Rian trying to apologize. And it was cold. Just a big empty bed. He shivered in his jacket _aaaall_ the way to the train station, putting music on to take the edge off the unusual silence of the city tonight.

He didn't really expect anything to happen because, come on, _nobody_ would try anything on him. He was Bob fucking _Bryar,_ and nobody messed with him. Unless, you know, he was with Patrick. Because the universe was kind of against Patrick, truthfully. So as Bob stood waiting for the train, Shannon Leto was kind of the _last_ person he ever imagined showing up.

Hell, he didn't even notice Shannon- or Jared behind him- until he realized that they were right beside him and hadn't moved in a couple of minutes. It was sort of anti-climactic when he pulled one earbud out and looked over at them. "I'm not the one you're looking for."

"You're always here, aren't you," Shannon said, and Bob rolled his eyes, because here came another game of "finish-each-other's-sentences" that he hated so badly. "You've been here all along. Haven't you?"

Bob rubbed at his arms, leaning out to look for the train, refusing to acknowledge the huge pain in the ass the universe had dealt him this night. "The train station? Oh yeah, I'm a big fan of public transportation."

Shannon laughed and Jared tilted his head to the side and smiled the most (heart-stopping) obnoxious smile Bob had ever seen. "Cute, he said, "but not what he meant at all."

"You stand beside him no matter what." Shannon came up on Bob's other side, raising a red flag. He was being flanked, and he did not like it. His mind was a little more there now, he was a little more alert. 

"No matter what, you stand beside him," Jared added, and okay, now they were _much_ too close for comfort and Bob wasn't liking that. He hunched his shoulders, eyes shifting from brother to brother, figuring out who would move first. "He's important to you. You love him."

Bob started and shook his head hard, jamming the other earbud in his ear and fumbling with his phone to get his music to work. Nope. Code red. No no no. They were not having this conversation, they did **_not_** get to talk about that. "Look, okay? I've had enough, I'm not in the mood for this. Go be annoying elsewhere."

But the brothers each put a hand on Bob's shoulder, and those damned smiles were back again.

Bob didn't make a sound. When the train came, he wasn't there.

 

 

Patrick had nearly thrown up in Subspace, he remembered that much. He remembered making it as far as the stairs- no sooner had Pete shut the front door then Patrick was shoved against the wall, he was being kissed none-too-gently, and he was loving it.

It was a miracle they even made it to Pete's room at all, and Pete was missing a good half of his clothes by the time they did. Patrick managed to get the door closed, at least, because Gabriel had a bad habit of running in when people were being too loud.

Patrick remembered being woken up from a dream of giant ice creams licking people by Pete, who seemed not to have slept. It was a wonder he'd slept either, he felt sor, and his head was weird, and he was feeling weird, like something was wrong.

"....Patrick did you cheat on me?" And if anything shocked Patrick back into full consciousness faster, _that_ was it. "Did you cheat on me with Gerard Way?"   

"I uh... I-I cheated on Gerard Way with you?" Patrick said quietly, cringing and curling up into a ball when Pete's voice rose. 

"WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE." The void of darkness thing was happening again, less visible in the dark, but Pete could hardly see anything now. Patrick didn't notice at all, he'd buried his face in his pillow. He didn't want to deal with this, not now, not when things had been going so well, nope.  

"...There is none," he managed.

"You're right, there isn't a difference!" Pete rolled over, trying to calm his temper a little bit, and failing drastically. "I thought you were better than that, Patrick. I bet you're another Gabe waiting to happen aren't you."

"I'm sorry..."

"You're a bad person," Pete said, and he tried to go to sleep. Patrick doubted either of them would be capable of it. 

 

 

It had taken Patrick three minutes to take in the text Bob had sent them, three minutes of silent contemplation about whether or not to wait until Pete had gotten out of the shower to ask if they were still dating, and three minutes to get ready to go help poor Bob, who was still a bit more important than the stupid fights Patrick and Pete had. 

It took him fifteen minutes to get to the abandoned ballroom that was going to be turned into a club. It had a sweeping, glossy wooden floor and a high, arched ceiling complete with a chandelier. It also had a stage, where Jared and Shannon Leto were standing and Bob Bryar was chained up in a cage. 

It took Patrick five minutes to get beat down by Jared alone. He couldn't focus on fighting at all, he had a headache, and he kept thinking about what Pete was going to say when he got back. 

"What's wrong with you?" Shannon asked, dragging Patrick to his feet by his hair. "Pick up the pace, we're getting bored." 

"Don't ask someone to fight you with a hangover, you dicks." **[Bob Bryar. Freezing cold, horribly hungover, ravenously hungry and sexually frustrated.]**

Jared made an irritated sound and sent a flying kick Patrick's way- okay, Patrick managed to block it and made a little noise of triumph in doing so, but stumbled back a few steps- just to have Shannon kick him in the back of the head.

He saw stars. They were pretty.

"How's Pete this morning?" **[Brother number 1: Jared Leto]**

"HE'S FINE AND YOU GUYS ARE CHEATING." Patrick picked himself up off the glossy floor, shaking off the rest of his dizziness as best he could.  

"Cheating, sounds like someone we know, doesn't it?" **[Brother number 2: Shannon Leto]**

"Pete cheated on us," Jared explained, looking over at his brother, who nodded. "See, we dated him... Simultaneously. and it almost broke us apart. Silly, isn't it, letting a boy get between you?" 

"So from that day, we decided never to let anything like that happen again." Back to back, they linked arms and Jared spun around, his brother catching Patrick in the face with a kick once more. Patrick's nose was bleeding now, _ow_. He was probably going to have a giant bruise on the back of his head too. He was too stunned to worry about his nose possibly being broken, however. 

"Pete cheated on you? But he was so..."

"Hypocritical? Sounds like him," Jared said, stepping out of the way when Patrick attempted a clumsy kick. It was a sad attempt, and Shannon tutted, shaking his head.

Bob groaned and leaned his head on the bars of the cage from the sidelines. "Patrick _tell me_ you guys weren't fighting last night." 

"OF COURSE NOT." He almost took a hit to the stomach, Shannon's fist whooshing by about an inch from the mark. Patrick got lucky that time. He tried not to pay much attention to Bob anymore, or anything that wasn't fighting.

Bob was about to complain again when Shannon interrupted him. "Did his head go dark?"

"What does that even mean?" Bob called out, and nobody bothered to answer so he sighed and just closed his eyes and waited for liberation. Fuck them. 

Another missed punch on Patrick's part, and Jared chopped him in the back. Ow. Jared caught the next punch Patrick threw at him and pulled him into some sort of warped tango stance until they were very close together. "You do know why Pete came here, don't you? It wasn't for his job."

"He needed to escape," Shannon added and the two banded together to send Patrick flying, crashing into the polished floor. "He needed to escape from himself."

"He needed to escape from Gabe," Jared put in as Patrick slid across the polished floors, grimacing hard. What was the point of even fighting these guys. He struggled just to sit up, even if it hurt to breathe and he was gasping for air. "He never sticks around, Stump, you'll never be able to keep him."

"Wow look how informative you all are," Patrick spat, and it just made the brothers chuckle.

"You want information? Pete used to work for Gabe," Shannon said, and his brother kindly added "His... services are missed terribly. We need to bring him back." And before Patrick could say another word, he was flying again. He smashed into the floor again and rolled into the wall. Shit, that one hurt. _Bad_. He hugged his middle and shook lightly, trying not to cry. Bob cringed, yanking at the bars of his cage. This was not fun to watch.

"Patrick get up, please!"

"You poor idiot. Fighting for him like this." The brothers were towering over him now, Shannon making a somewhat-sympathetic face and tilting his head to the side. "Would he ever do this for you?"

"PATRICK GET ME OUT OF HERE, COME ON."

"Fightng so hard for the wrong boy." Jared nudged him with a foot. "I reckon he's packing his bags right now."

And then Bob got an idea. A lightbulb sort of idea, his entire face lighting up. "PATRICK! I GOT A TEXT. IT'S FROM PETE." And he held out his phone, that had been dead for an hour, trying to look as happy as he could about it, because Patrick perked up immediately. Even Jared and Shannon looked back, alarmed. "He... He's waiting for you at home, Patrick. He can't wait for you to come home. And he believes in you- h-he's worried about you fighting these two." 

Patrick was pulling himself up now- good, it was working. Bob pushed himself to continue, controlling the waver in his voice carefully. "He was worried- I'm texting him back. Come on, he's Patrick Stump!"

Before they knew it, before another snarky comment could come out of either of their mouths- Shannon and Jared Leto were flying across the room as Patrick had spent half his time doing. Patrick was on his feet again, with that determined expression that was so rare that Bob loved. "Hey, dickweeds, pass something on for me, won't you?" Patrick cracked his knuckles, and damn, he looked a bit menacing. "Tell Gabriel he's next."

And the next moment Bob Bryar would remember for the rest of his life, because he just felt so very _proud_. Patrick wound back and punched Jared and Shannon Leto in the faces- simultaneously. There was an explosion of coins and a triumphant laugh from Patrick, who stood there in all his glory for almost a full minute before going to help Bob out of his cage. Bob gave him a big, uncharacteristic hug, and Patrick even smiled a bit. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this."

"Whatever. I'm fine." He pressed his face against Patrick's chest because he was cold and Patrick was warm and he was kind of happy right now. Patrick held him out, examining Bob's face. "That bruise was from earlier," Bob insisted, looking away. He felt flustered all of a sudden, and played it off as nonchalance. Patrick just smiled and gave his friend a kiss on his forehead that made his face heat up before promising to walk him home.

 

 

Patrick was red faced and breathing hard when he burst through their front door, accidentaly leaving it open. No time to close it. He kept his shoes on as he stormed up the stairs and tripped through their bedroom door. The room was a total mess, things strewn across the floor. Clothes had been torn from the closet and were hanging off lamps, dressers and mirrors. Gabriel was buried under a pile of hoodies, panting happily. 

Pete was sitting on the bed, staring at the envelope in his hands, scrubbing a hand through his short, short hair. He'd cut it, Patrick realized, and it stuck up at the front, but it was oddly conservative for him. He started when Patrick burst in, nearly dropping the letter. 

"Pete? Are you okay?" Don't mention the hair. Keep going. Patrick took a deep breath. "I beat Jared and Shannon- that's the only reason I was gone, okay? They had Bob and I had to save him. They told me some stuff but..." Shit, the void of darkness-y thing had started, even while Pete was smiling. That was new. Patrick was getting kind of anxious, his words getting a bit rushed and mixed together. "Pete I-... I love you okay? I love you and I'm here now and everything's going to be okay. I don't care who you were, okay? I don't care what you did- as long as you love me, okay?"

Pete chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. The room was getting darker and darker, the lamp straining to keep everything lit. It flickered out, and there was nothing but the dying sunlight in the window that was working hard to stay alive. "I've done bad things," was all Pete said, and Patrick stepped back into the hallway because the darknss was reaching him now, and he wasn't sure how it was going to affect him.

"I have too, Pete-"

"I'm a bad person."

"People change, Pete."

Pete didn't say anything to that. He nodded and rubbed at his eye and smiled a bit, looking over at Patrick. "Thanks, Patrick."

"You're welcome..." It was getting hard to see anything, but Pete's smile got a little sweeter.

"I had a good time," he said, and it went totally dark.

When Patrick could see again, Pete Wentz was nowhere to be found. The room had gone dark- how long had he been standing there? Gabriel padded into the room and hopped up on the bed, turning a few circles and lying down, looking up at Patrick expectantly. The letter was on the floor, beside Mikey's ray gun. Patrick went over and picked both of them up, sticking the letter in his pocket and tucking the ray gun in his waistband. Then he went looking for Pete, he looked through every room in the house.

He didn't find anything, no trace of Pete. But he did let Gabriel out and locked himself out of the house without a key.

 

 

For a while, life was just confusing. Patrick felt like nothing had changed for a while, he just felt numb and confused. Every morning when he woke up next to Alex Gaskarth, he'd start the clockwork motions of each day with only Pete on his mind.

Sometimes it changed. On his days off he'd just wander aimlessly. He'd go talk to Joe or Andy, or leave things to try and entice Gabriel back to the house. One day Alex kicked him out, because his pathetic whimpering every time he thought about how much Pete hadn't been able to actually stand him was keeping Alex up at night. Patrick couldn't help it though. You must _really_ hate someone if you disappear on them without a trace, or even a goodbye.

He found himself at Bob's house on a cold night, and Bob seemed almost sympathetic. Not quite, but _almost_. Patrick did get a hug though, and he found himself not wanting to let go. He didn't get that many hugs these days, Alex wasn't overly affectionate with him at all. 

"How are you doing," Bob asked, and Patrick just shrugged. "Look, if you're not down with sleeping in my bed, you should turn back now, because Rian sold our couch."

"He did what?"

"It might've been an act of petty revenge or for rent money, I don't know. I'm not about to ask him. So either sleep with me or sleep on the floor."

They'd done this before, of course, but it was different now, because Bob and Patrick weren't dating, and all Patrick could and would think about was Pete. Neither of them could sleep, so they lay in the dark facing away from each other, and Patrick was reminded of a few weeks ago when he and Pete had been doing the same thing. The night before everything changed.

Bob cleared his throat and Patrick shifted uncomfortably. "Do you still hate Rian?" He asked, and Bob shrugged.

"I hate everyone," he said.

"Do you hate me?" Patrick asked, and that did not get a response for quite some time. Bob shook his head. There was another glaring silence before Bob spoke again.

"I'm moving back home," he said, and that is precisely when Patrick stopped feeling numb about everything that had happened these past few weeks, and started to feel... sad.

"Seriously?" Patrick managed to choke out, because it felt like someone was squeezing his chest. Apparently _nobody_ could tolerate him anymore. _Nobody_ probably even liked him anymore. Spencer and Andy were probably planning a getaway at that moment, Brendon would come back just to slap him in the face. He'd see William Beckett making it big time with all his cute band members. He wouldn't even remember the name Patrick Stump. 

Bob rolled over to face Patrick's back, and he didn't look mad, he just looked serious. "A week from now." And he didn't say anything else, just left Patrick to try and quell the tearing sensations in his chest. 

 

 

Apparently, Andy and Spencer had not eloped, because Andy was there in his fancy apartment the next day when Patrick went over after Bob left for work. _No way_ could he function on his own right now, not with the way he was feeling at the moment. But of course, Andy was Andy, and he made Patrick waffles and coffee and also made fun of him. He wandered about in his silly housecoat as Patrick moped over a cup of coffee. 

"Maybe he's better in bed," Andy said, and Patrick cringed- he didn't want to think about that. He did not need to think about his boyfriend fucking some other guy any more than he needed to think about Andy and Spencer doing the same thing.And Joe had said the same thing when Patrick had talked to him yesterday over coffee, he and Andy needed to stop talking to each other. "Probably better hair. More confidence."

"Andy. _Shut up_." The way it was delivered, it was more of a plea than a request, one that Andy decided to ignore.

"You gotta man up and figure this out. Stop moping around like you are and move on, would you?" He knocked off Patrick's hat and assaulted him with a vicious noogie and Patrick screamed and writhed and wriggled in Andy's grip until he felt just a little bit better about himself, because Andy was Andy. He'd always have Andy. Andy let go eventually, and Patrick went back to his coffee.

"Andy do you think Bob hates me?"

"Bob Bryar?" Spencer Smith materializes from the other room, wandering into the kitchen minus his shirt and pants, plus fuzzy pink slippers. Patrick mumbled a hello as he crossed the room, giving Andy a kiss in the cheek and taking his coffee. He sat down beside Patrick and nodded a hello, which Patrick largely ignored. Andy leaned his head on Spencer's shoulder and smirked at Patrick, who decided to ignore them now, sipping his coffee angrily.

"Yes Bob Bryar." Did they have to be so lovey-dovey when Patrick wasn't in a good mood? 

"I think Bob hates your guts," Andy said simply. 

 

 

"I don't hate your guts," Bob said, like he could read Patrick's mind or something.  He and Patrick were currently standing in line to board the bus back to Bob's hometown. The line was crawling along, and making Patrick feel worse every passing second. All the more time to realize what was happening, great. Bob was trying to distract him at least. "You know Jack made me a copy of the Arma album? We don't suck too bad do we?" 

"I don't think we do," Patrick said, dredging up a smile. "For your sake, I hope we don't."

"I know how amazing I am, but I worry about the rest of you," Bob said, shifting closer to Patrick an nudging him with his shoulder. It had started to snow quite heavily, and it was digging up so many bad memories that Patrick didn't want right now. He wanted to focus on Bob. 

"I can't believe you're leaving." They watched the rest of the luggage get tossed onto the bus, and Patrick felt like Bob had sealed his own fate. He had to clear his throat before speaking again to avoid embarassment. "You'll be back, won't you?" 

Bob didn't look at him, just chewed on his bottom lip and gave Patrick a really big hug. "Yeah, sure. Maybe."

And Patrick apologized to him. He wasn' sure what for. For high school? For Brian nearly killing him? For the Jared and Shannon fiasco? None of that seemed enough, so he reworded it carefully. 

"I'm sorry for me," Patrick choked out, and Bob smiled, let go of Patrick and saluted him before getting on the bus. 

"Apology accepted," he called over his shoulder, and Patrick Stump's best friend was gone within the next five minutes. 

 

 

Patrick opened the letter when he was alone in the apartment he hated, the new one his parent's had bought him that was way too big and way too empty for just him. But he was lonely and bored and remembered that the rustling in his pocket was caused by an actual thing and wasn't all in his mind. The paper was creased horribly and crumpled to shit, but easy enough to read:

**_dear gabe_ **

**_dont wait up for me cuz im not coming back_ **

**_its over forever and ever._ **

**_-xoxoxo_ **

But it had never been sent. That fact made Patrick confused. He didn't have time to mull it over, the phone was ringing. Andy probably wanted something. Patrick reached across the couch to grab it, wedging it between his shoulder and his ear while he read the letter over and over. "Hello?"

" _Hola amigo._ " No, that wasn't Andy's voice. It sounded like nothing Patrick had heard before, and it put him on edge. " _Figured I'd check in. How are you doing this fine winter's day? I'm only calling because I figured you might be a bit, ah,_ frosty _with me in the light of recent events._ " What the fuck was happening. " _So I decided to call before you did. Make sure there are no had feelings and whatnot. Comprende? That's good because-_ "

"Who is this?" Patrick had dropped the letter and was rubbing at his temples. Pete was gone, this better not be another evil ex for him to deal with. 

" _Well I'm not one to beat around the bush so I'll tell you straight up- this is Gabriel Saporta._ " 

Shit. Shitshit _shit **shiiit.**_

" _Tell me, when would it be convenient for you to die?_ "


	11. Patrick's Finest Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Gabe Saporta  
> Good girls run the risk of going bad

He'd been here before. Once, maybe. A few times at most. It was familiar. A big white room with absolutely nothing to see, nothing but a little shadow somewhere far off in the distance. 

Patrick ran towards it as fast as he could, not stopping when he tired quickly. He ran to the back of Pete's purple striped hoodie. As fast as he could until his lungs ached and his legs were sore, but he never quite reached him, he was always just a little too far away. Figures.

"PETE!" Patrick called, but though Pete stiffened at the sound of his name, he didn't look around. He didn't do anything, just stood there. He'd hardly moved at all- he didn't care. Patrick called his name again and again until he had no breath left, until he stumbled and fell face first into the hard white floor, glasses skittering out of his reach. It hurt, and he was tired, and he didn't want to move. He lay there, he just lay there because he was done running and chasing and it was getting old.

And finally, _finally_ Pete moved. He walked right over and bent down, picked up Patrick's glasses and slipped them back up over his nose.

It wasn't Pete though, anymore. Same sweater, different face. It was Gabriel Saporta, Patrick realized, and he started to get up to sock this guy in the face like he'd been meaning to, god he was _angry_ - 

But he was gone, just like that. 

And Patrick was alone.

Again. 

 

 

"Patrick sweetie, you need to go do something with your life," Andy said, because this was getting to be tiring, quite frankly. He was really tired of being here while Patrick largely ignored him and tapped away at whatever video game he was playing that day. Andy usually just brought a magazine over and tried to talk sense into his old roommate when he visited. It never worked, but it was worth a shot, and Patrick had a really nice, comfy chair that his parents had given to him as a gift. But even that was getting annoying, and Andy was trying to change it, to get his friend back on his feet. "Patrick you had that dream again didn't you."

No response. This obviously means yes.

"You know you're going to have to fight Gabe eventually right? He doesn't even care about the fact that Pete's gone, he still wants you dead." Andy tossed his magazine at Patrick's head. On the front cover was the big man himself, Gabe Saporta. Patrick hissed like a cat and tossed it away, making Andy hang his head in despair. There was no getting through to Patrick Stump, and that made him quite sad. "Patrick _please_ sleep with someone. I've seen Pop Tarts with more personality than you've been exhibiting as of late."

"Some Pop Tarts," Patrick mumbled, looking up very briefly to give Andy a half-hearted smile. "I'm just enjoying the quiet life, you know?"

"No, I don't know. Go have sex with someone and come back and tell me about how great it was and we'll go from there." That didn't get Andy anywhere. Patrick flipped him the bird, but otherwise? Nothing.

Andy got up and waded through all sorts of clothes and plates to and garbage scattered all over the floor to get to the kitchen. It was a feat, and he was lucky to make it there alive. Rifling through the cupboards, he didn't find much, and that made him even angrier. Patrick probably hadn't shopped himself since he'd gotten here. He survived on takeout and whatever Andy brought him. "You need to move on, Patrick, some incredibly attractive Mexican guy stole your dick of a boyfriend, get over it."

"He's not Mexican. And Pete's not a dick. And Gabe didn't steal him, he just hasn't come back yet."

"Okay, you know what? I came here to make you dinner? But I think Spencer might just appreciate my company a little more, so I'm going to go eat with him, goodbye."

Patrick really wanted to tell him to wait, tell him to stay in here with him like they used to because he was lonely, but he also wanted to catch Darkrai, so he waved goodbye to Andy, which only seemed to make him angrier as he left, closing the door behind him calling

"It's been months, Patrick. Months. You're _fucked_."

 

 

"You don't even come to work anymore," Alex was over there another night, equally as irritated with Patrick's lack of enthusiasm for anything in the world, because he kind of missed him. They all did, quite frankly, except maybe Ryan Ross. Patrick didn't even leave the house anymore. Patrick thought Andy probably put Alex up to this though, and didn't pay him any attention, making a non-committal noise as he tried to pull up front in Mario Kart. This was all he cared about at the moment. Mario Kart and maybe finding Gabriel the dog, because he felt partially responsible for Gabriel's wellbeing, just as much as his own friends seemed to feel partially responsible for his wellbeing. Alex sighed and sat at the end of the couch, picking up the magazine Andy left two days ago.

"I think you should come back to work, Patrick. Come on."

"Yeah okay." He was in front of Bowser and coming up behind Mario. Alex resisted the urge to knock that stupid game out of his hands, cursing Frank for giving it to him in the first place.

"You might have to be awake during the day, is that too inconvenient for you?" Patrick just shrugged and Alex had to count to ten very slowly to keep from socking him. "Stop being a dick."

"I'm not being a dick," Patrick said, and Alex laughed, going back to his article about how great the new club Gabe Saporta is opening in the city was going to be. Quite frankly, it sounded amazing. The drawn depiction of it was enough to make Alex impressed. Alex almost felt like reading the whole article out loud just to annoy his friend, just read out loud how superior Gabe Saporta was. But he didn't, he changed the subject instead, mercifully.

"I have a new band," Alex said, and that got Patrick's attention for a few seconds, got him to look away from his game curiously. "And before you ask, you're not in it."

"Is Ryan in it?"

"Rian is. And Jack. Not Ryan Ross- he moved. Did you miss that whole thing?"

"I thought we didn't like them." Back to his game. "Do you have a name?" Alex tossed the magazine at Patrick's head, exasperated. Patrick still ignored him. " _All Time Low_ sounds good, I've been saving that one for a while now." That actually _did_ sound pretty good. Now Alex was thinking about it, damn it.

He had to go tell Jack about this.

Alex got off the couch and rushed to get his coat on. Patrick didn't even notice when he left.

 

 

Patrick was pretty sure he was never going to leave the house ever again. Okay, finally, Andy and Alex had coaxed him out of the house, to a show All Time Low was playing at a kind-of-okay club that they kind of liked a little bit, nothing like the shitty places Arma used to play. The lights were colourful, the people were colourful, and Patrick was in a terrible mood. Alex had to go help Jack and Rian set up, leaving Patrick on his own at the bar. 

To make matters worse?

"You know, his club is opening soon." **[Jon Walker. Knows everyone. Yes, really. Everyone.]**

"Whose club?" **[Dallon Weekes. Probably cuter than you.]**

"Gabe's," Jon said, and that caught Patrick's attention. He scooted over and ignored Dallon, who was trying to talk to him. No. _This_ was important. Jon gave Patrick a weird look and continued. "It's going to be awesome, okay. They're going to open the day Brendon's new album comes out, he's going to play there." 

Suddenly things were a lot worse. Like things couldn't get any worse. Patrick left to go help Alex out before thinking about Brendon could put him in any worse of a mood- no. _No_ , he'd go home, this social activity thing was not working out. Sure, he missed it kind of, but he _could not_ deal right now. He wished Alex luck and left, and it was freezing outside and he was miserable.

The best course of action seemed to be visiting Andy at this point, because Andy was always down for visits. Except, you know. When he was _busy_. With _Spencer_. Patrick seemed to have sufficient funding for the bus, so he walked down to the stop, playing the song he'd heard on the radio this morning over and over in his head to keep from thinking about anything. Something by a band with a weird name with punctuation in it. The singer sounded oddly familiar. 

Patrick waited a long time for the bus, until his toes were numb and he couldn't feel the end of his nose. He'd managed to talk himself out of going to visit Andy twice, and in that time accomplished nothing. He _did_ have a rather pleasant conversation with a stoner who told him to _follow his dreams, little buddy_ , and a nice old lady who told him he was too young and handsome to be as sad as he looked.

The third bus he meant to get on, he nearly collided with someone and immediately thought better of it. What else would Andy be doing on a night like this than staying with Spencer at home doing _Spencer and Andy things_? He kept standing there while the person he'd narrowly avoided collected himself- 

"Patrick?" **[Gerard Way. 18 years old. Still attractive and still in highschool!]**

"Oh wow- Gerard." Patrick smiled a little bit without thinking. Gerard looked like... Well, he looked like _Gerard_ , in his ratty green coat and his awkward little smile. His hair was black again though, there was a little bit of brown in there too. Patrick was sure he's liked it better white, or eve red, but this was okay too. He made a face when Patrick stared too long. Awkward. Patrick cleared his throat. "Um. Yes. Good to see you. It's been a while? Um. Are you going to see Alex?"

"Aren't you? Come on, let's walk." That was redundant. Patrick didn't mind walking back all that much, it was just really cold, especially for a day in April. And then Alex might give him shit for it, but whatever. 

"How've you been? You're an actual adult now. Pretty cool, huh?" 

"Eh. It's okay." Gerard shrugged, scratching his head. "I mean, it's kinda scary too. I'm going to art school, so that's kind of cool I guess. I don't know. It's a big change isn't it?"

"Yeah it is." This was familiar. This was nice. Patrick looked over at Gerard, chewing on his bottom lip, and for whatever reason what _Andy_ had said went through his head, and the filter that had been dwindling for a few months now seemed to evaporate permanently because Patrick sure as hell did _not_ mean to say "We should totally have sex."

Gerard stopped walking abruptly and stared at Patrick like he'd grown a third head, and Patrick looked back, equally mortified, but he couldn't quite get his body to respond and make stuttering, half-hearted protests and he was SURE this was not how to sleep around, this was just another thing he was terrible at that Andy could laugh about later.    

"Look I'm sorry to say this? But I've moved on, Patrick." And wow, not only was it bad enough that he hadn't been that serious about it in the first place, now he was getting turned down. "I mean, you cheated on me? And then you didn't talk to me-"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I mean." He paused. "... Well I got what I deserved if that's any consolation. 

"Oh don't be like that. I'm over it." Gerard pried the hat Patrick was wrenching in his hands away from him and smoothed it out, fitting it back on Patrick's head. It was an embarrassingly motherly guesture that made Patrick's face heat up, but Gerard seemed unaffected. "I still love you. Not the same way, but I do. Is that childish?"

"I don't think so." He took a deep breath and looked up, smiling slightly. "Andy was right, you really _are_ too good for me."

"Brian's been telling me that," Gerard said, trying not to start giggling. Oh. _That_ was a thing. He kept walking while Patrick took that in. "But I don't really think so. You're not a bad guy, Patrick. You just make shitty choices sometimes. We all do."

Patrick didn't want to go see Alex's band play, so he stood by the door. "Thanks."

"Talk to me again before I graduate, you asshole," Gerard said, and Patrick nodded. Gerard administered a kiss to Patrick's forehead and went inside.

 

 

The party sucked, and when Patrick came to that  horrible realization, he had nobody to loudly announce it to and complain with.

Patrick didn't even recognize half the people there, and didn't even have Bob with him to point everyone out and tell him how much he hated every single one of them. He didn't have Pete to make snarky remarks and laugh way too loudly at Bob's responses. Without them, Patrick was just a lone soul in a throbbing mass of partygoers he didn't even want to talk to, and he wasn't sure wha thad compelled him to come here in the first place. Maybe he was hoping to meet Gerard again? Gerard usually came to Ryan Ross parties, right? Who knew. 

But of course, in this town, it was impossible to escape people you knew. 

"Hey, Patrick!" **[Jon Walker, Party Patron. Knows who you are and what you're drinking at all times.]** Patrick turned, startled, and nearly spilled some girl's drink beside him. He ignored her dirty look though. "Hey, I didn't know you knew Alex. This is crazy."

"...I know Alex. I thought his birthday was in December?" Patrick said, and that probably wasn't the best thing to be saying because Jon looked mightily unimpressed when he explained that this here was Alex _Suarez's_ birthday party, and not a Ryan Ross party at all. Patrick excused himself quickly, because he was sure he'd never been more embarrassed in his entire life.

"I thought this was a Ryan Ross party," Patrick mumbled as he flopped down on the couch. 

 **[Frank Iero. Unseen for a while. Probably got older too.]** "Ryan Ross moved, Patrick. Or did you miss that whole thing?"

"Ehn," Patrick managed, and Frank started talking about All Time Low as Dallon Weekes breezed into the room announcing "BRENDON URIE IS HERE."

Of course that got everyone's attention. More Patrick's than anyone's, but Brendon had made quite the name for himself since the huge thing with Ray Gun Jones. Dallon sat down beside Frank, sighin dreamily. "I am so gay for him it's not even funny, you know?"

That shut Frank up for a couple beats before he turned to Patrick again. "You should go talk to him, eh? I mean, you might as well, right? Nothing to lose and all that."

Patrick figured there was some truth to that, and at least now he didn't have to worry about Brendon saying something bad to Pete when he wasn't paying attention, so there was that. He nodded and got up and Frank gave him a thumbs up as he threw himself into the crowd.

Patrick remembered quite briefly the party that had started this whole mess, where he'd casually followed a pretty emo boy the entire night just to blow it unceremoniusly. That didn't matter now, and the thought made him frown as he sought Brendon out.

 **[Brendon Urie. Hair: 999. Eyes: 999. Clothes: 998.6, his socks are too high.]** He looked even nicer than when Patrick had seen him last somehow, in a sort of magazine cover-ish way. Maybe it was the apparent lack of Beatles hair that made the difference, Patrick had never been too fond of it. Now, Brendon's hair was shaved on both sides to make a sort of almost-mohawk that swept to one side like an ocean wave. It was awfully majestic. His suit looked more expensive than Patrick's entire wardrobe, an he had donned a pair of cutely-dorky glasses that somehow seemed to enhance his features, which seemed remotely impossible. He was commanding all the attention in the entire room, even just sitting there at a table with his head bent low.

Patrick approached with caution, but when Brendon looked back he didn't give Patrick a vicious scowl, didn't grow snake fangs and hiss. No, not at all. He just gave the tiniest, most dazzling of smiles and said "Hey."

Well he was being nice. _Now what_. Patrick swallowed nervously and nodded. He slid in beside Brendon, ignoring the hushed whispers all around them. "Nice to see you again," he managed, and Brendon looked back down, his smile widening a bit.

"Great party huh? I didn't know you knew Alex Suarez."

"I thought this was a Ryan Ross party," Patrick admitted sheepishly. When he looked over, Brendon was still smiling at the table.

"... So did I, quite honestly. This party blows."

"Do you wanna get out of here then?" That was unfathomably smooth, and Patrick almost scared himself. Brendon seemed wildly amused, however, and agreed happily. It was probably the most normal conversation they'd ever had, and it was fantastic.

"Let's go get coffee," Brendon said, and the entire party watched them leave, whispers erupting here and there. The tabloids would have a field day with this one, for sure.

Patrick and Brendon didn't talk at all on the way there, but the hipsters in the coffee shop got extra excited when Brendon walked in. They were swarmed for a few minutes before they escaped the shop and ran out with their coffees, finding a park bench to sit on away from most of civilization.

"How've you been?" Brendon asked, and Patrick just shrugged because how do you respond to that? _My boyfriend ran off with a glamorous Mexican guy probably. And most of my friends hate me because I don't even talk to them anymore._ "Okay...? Do you still live with Andy though?"

"Nah, he's got a boyfriend now, so." Patrick wasn't sure if that was a proper response, he just set his coffee down beside him and messed with his hands in his lap as Brendon hastily continued the conversation. 

"How's your boyfriend then?"

"Who knows. How's your boyfriend?" That seemed to offend Brendon, who made a face. 

"I don't have one," he said simmply, and that made Patrick feel crabby for some reason. He didn't mean to sound so cynical after that point, but he did anyways. 

"Oh that's surprising."

"Don't be a dick, okay? Stop making me look like the bad guy. Not only was that a long time ago, You've done the exact same thing." 

"I know, and I feel terrible about it, okay? I'm sorry." Silence. "Happy birthday, by the way. It was a few days ago, wasn't it?"

"Oh thanks. Yours is soon too, isn't it?" Brendon tugged at his mittens and his coat, sipping his coffee daintily. It was too cold for either of them to be out here, but there were no complaints. 

Patrick had honestly forgotten all about his own birthday. He hadn't really been focusing on anything as of late. "Oh, yeah. That's not a big deal though. It's fine."

Brendon's face brightened a bit and he nudged Patrick gently with his elbow. "Do you remember that one time at one of my parties when Ryan got smashed and was hitting on me the entire night and that made Alex Gaskarth really mad for whatever reason?"

Patrick smiled too at the memory, because that had been pretty funny. Alex only showed his extensive cache of creative swear words when Ryan Ross was involved, so that had been quite a treat. "And I got drunk and kissed Ryan and that made him cry." 

"And then we had sex," Brendon said bluntly, with an air of finality that Patrick opted to ignore. 

_Well._

He cleared his throat. "... What is this, Brendon? Do you think we'll ever get back together?"

"Me and you?" Brendon laughed, and Patrick wasn't sure if he should feel bad about that or not, but he probably should. "Patrick, I don't think so. We'd never work. We stopped working a long time ago."

"Why does it have to be that way?"

"I've changed, Patrick. You've changed. We're not in college anymore." Brendon stood up and tapped on the brim of Patrick's hat. He looked sad almost, wistful. "I did bad things, but so did you. And that's hard to get over, you know." He started walking- yes. That man in the distance, with the perfect hair and the stylish scarf... Patrick felt a surge of anger that came out in a strangled noise that made Brendon look a little bit sadder. "Just promise you won't forget about me, okay Patrick? Don't forget me. Not who I am, and not who I was."

"I promise..."

 

 

The night Gabriel returned, Patrick had been mentally scarred by Andy, probably just for bringing up that he'd talked with Brendon.

"He was being nice to me-"

"He is Satan, Patrick. He should be obliterated with the rest of the human race." Andy flipped over the CD in his hand, squinting at the back through his glasses. "Except us, of course."

"He's not that bad..." Patrick was wringing the hem of his shirt, wondering when he'd started that habit in the first place, it was a bit irritating.

Andy was still unsympathetic, no matter what epiphany Brendon had given Patrick. "You're emotionally damaged enough without Brendon Urie's masculine wiles, Patrick. He's probably fucking Gabe, you know that right."

Damn it. He was right. "What? No!"

"Having epic threesomes with Gabe and Pete. Woah." He went over to look at another CD as Patrick tried very hard not to think about it, because _ew?_

"Never speak to me again."

"Oh baby, you know I didn't mean it. I'll take you for dinner, come on."

Later that night Patrick got a message from Bob.

_Patrick I saw a guy with a hat like yours today. HHe was a whole lot fatter though, and he actually drove a truck unlike your wannabe ass. And that is the most interesting thing that has happened all week so get the fuck down here before I come back just to kick your ass._

And that's when Gabriel showed up, oof course, scratching at the door until Patrick opened up and let him in. Their reunion was a joyful one, so joyful that Patrick left the door open as he coddled the slobbery dog who was drooling all over him They slept together on the couch because it was cold in there, and Patrick felt a little bit better. Soon he'd go visit Bob, and maybe everything would be sort of okay again. 

 

 

Bob Bryar's parents seemed awfully preoccupied with Patrick Stump's wellbeing, and he was _so_ bombarded with questions his first morning there that Bob had to save him and bring him to his room so they could eat their food in peace. _How was his mother? How was Andrew? Was Patrick seeing anyone? Did Bob and Patrick have lots of fun back before the move? Why didn't Bob move back?_

And the last question got Bob, who loudly announced they were eating upstairs and then going out for a walk. Patrick didn't really want to be out in the cold at the moment, but Bob insisted that it happn so it happened anyways and he had no say in it.

Bob's house was kind of out in the sticks compared to his old apartment. This place was a lot more run down than their city, trash sticking up through the dirty grey snow that should have melted by now, very few people milling by. Patrick didn't see the allure of this place, and he made that known to Bob.

"I'm not sure what you're doing here," Patrick said, because it must be lonely up here, or as lonely as he'd made himself back home. Bob just looked over at him, tilted his sunglasses down and scowled, and Patrick backed down. "Okay, uh. Where are we going." 

"If you walk in this direction long enough there is an abandonned building just for you an me, Mr. Stump," Bob said, and Patrick shut up because he seemed to have upset Bob somehow. He was forever doing this, he wished desperately that someone would tell him what he was doing so he would stop doing it.  

The building was half demolished and everything around it was grey and white and brown, gnarled trees and cracked brick walls. As depressing as it was, it was also serene, and Patrick went to sit under the overhang of the roof almost immediately. Bob sat down beside him, sighing softly. He already sounded like he'd been here too long. Why didn't he just _go back?_

"It feels like we're in a zombie movie or something, you know," Patrick said quietly, watching the snow fall, and Bob shrugged. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. This did kind of look like the end of a zombie movie, where only the two of them were left but that was okay, because they had their love or something like that. The fact remained that two men couldn't repopulate the planet in a time of crisis like that. Oops. He explained all of this to Bob, who laughed and told him to grow up.

To which Patrick replied "I'm not ready to grow up." 

There were a few beats of silence as Bob tried to come up with a response to that. All he said was "None of us are, you just have to get used to it." And then he nudged Patrick's shoulder and Patrick nudged back, smiling. "It takes practice, but you'll get the hang of it."

"Bob? What are you doing up here?"

"I needed a break I guess," Bob replied, slipping the glasses off his face and frowning at the snow. "Too much drama back home. Things are a lot simpler here."

Yeah no kidding. Patrick looked over and Bob was smiling at him. He didn't even relly register what was happening until it happened, until he was leaning in and he and Bob were kissing and suddenly he didn't feel as cold as he should probably feel. 

Bob didn't pull away. He sat completely still for a good thirty seconds, then leaned into it, gripping the front of Patrick's coat to pull him closer. 

But even that didn't last long, and he jerked back. " ** _PATRICK!_** "

More than anything, Patrick was startled. That was not the reaction he had been hoping for. It had been going so well for a while there, what had gone wrong. He just stared at Bob, his eyes wide as Bob slipped his glasses back on, covering his mouth with a hand like a bashful schoolgirl. "W...What-"

"WE _CAN'T_." Bob took a deep breath and steadied his breathing. "Patrick we can't... We can't do that, okay?"

"But... Why not?" His head felt numb, weird like it had only once before... "I mean you're... Bob, you've always been there, that counts for something-"

"What are you even saying, you're not even making sense!" Bob was on his feet, pacing back and forth in short bursts, and the movement was making Patrick feel worse, whatever was left of his confused smile dropping off his face. 

"You're the constant in my life, Bob... You're always there for me, you're uncomplicated and-"

"Uncomplicated. Uncomplicated?" Now Bob was mad- Bob was _furious_ , his voice rising at an alarming rate. "We weren't some cute romance, Patrick. You pulled a _Pete_ , basically. You pulled a Pete on me- you didn't tell me you were leaving. I heard it from William! That fucked me up a bit, okay? Just a bit." Bob sat back down haughtily, and Patrick didn't say anything. His mind was getting too muddled to form responses.

When Bob looked over at him again, finally, there was a dark cloud forming over his head. "Um... Patrick..."

"I'm sorry okay? We'll not talk about it. I won't do it again, don't talk about it." Bob moved back so the rapidly spreading cloud didn't reach him, alarmed. "I'm fine, you're fine, let's move on."

Bob left it at that, paying attention to anything that wasn't Patrick and his creepy void of darkness, far too reminiscent of Pete for his tastes. Look around at the barren trees covered in snow, look at the streetlamps that stopped working a long time ago, the tall, creepy shadowy man making his way across the parking lot- 

Before Bob knew it, Patrick was running full speed ahead at the man. "THAT'S HIM," Patrick screamed at Bob, who was confused. "THAT'S _ME_. I HAVE TO BEAT HIM AND _I CAN FORGET!_ "

No sooner had he arrived, he got elbowed in the chin by the vastly superior NegaPatrick, toppled over into the snow. NegaPatrick dug his foot into Patrick's side hard, grinning like a lunatic and Bob ran over to try and provide some sort of assistance since he couldn't last time. 

"Patrick, you don't need to live like this, okay? You can't keep repressing all the things that happen to you, you need to accept them!"

Nope. He was on his feet again, charging at NegaPatrick like Bob hadn't spoken at all. "Don't say that, Bob- look, I just need to beat him. _I just need to beat him!_ " He was running, the storm cloud around his head darkening as the NegaPatrick laughed and stood right there, waiting. "I can forget about Pete- I can get on with my life!"

He came in too hard and NegaPatrick moved out of the way. Patrick skidded to a halt in the snow and NegaPatrick elbowed him in the spine, shoving him down into the snow once more. Ow. Bob didn't like having to watch this happen all over again. He had no tricks up his sleeve that would even help here, either. 

"You can't forget your mistakes, Patrick, they'll just keep following you and you'll repeat them! Everyone will turn out like Pete- you _can't_ let that happen!"

"I DON'T CARE," Patrick yelled, kicking up into NegaPatrick's stomach and sending him reeling as he got got his feet once more. "I don't want to have to face it, I don't want to think about what I've done!" 

"It's going to follow you, Patrick! It's going to follow you around and eat you away inside until-" He was on his back again, NegaPatrick looming over him. "You need to own up to it otherwise-" Patrick yelped when NegaPatrick swung his fist- there was no pain, everything was black. 

_Patrick went and stood next to Pete on the wall, leaning back against it and trying to look cool. The other boy hardly looked over, slanting his eyes around his hood towards Patrick and frowning a bit before looking back at the floor._

_Patrick took a deep breath. "Hi."_

_Pete looked at him again, raising an eyebrow. "Hi."_

_"What a lousy date that was, eh?"_

_Patrick started, and Pete seemed to realize what he'd said. "Oh, sorry. Date? No. My mistake."_

 

_"Your hair."_

_"What about it?" Pete looked up through his fringe at Patrick, who was gawking at the red streaks he was seeing. "Do you like it?"_

_"It's nice," was all Patrick said, and Pete stared at him for a moment before shrugging and taking his other shoe off._

_"Brendon Boyd Urie."_

_"That's even weirder." Pete poked Patrick again, and Patrick was trying very hard to be worried, but his boyfriend was making it hard. "Do you have a middle name?"_

_Jeez, not this. "Vaughn. It makes me sound like an old man, doesn't it?"_

_"It makes you sound like a vampire or something. Does that make sense?"_

_"You're soaked," Pete mumbled, and Patrick didn't respond so he just sighed and draped the towel over his shoulder, pulling Patrick's shirt over his head. "Are you okay?"_

_Patrick still didn't say anything, didn't even make a face. The corners of his mouth twitched down but that was about all he was getting, so Pete just gave him a quick kiss and dried him off a little more before leading him upstairs._

_There was silence. Patrick recognized the hat as his, one he'd bought a long, long time ago and suspected he'd lost. It made him smile a little, and Brendon waved awkwardly and got into the car._

_Pete put his arm around Patrick's shoulder, and everything seemed a little more okay in the world._

_"_ _I like your everything," Patrick said queitly, and the alternative word was stuck on the tip of his tongue. How hard would it be? I love you, Pete Wentz. I love you so much._

_...No, it didn't feel right. Patrick giggled nervously, looking back at the table and fiddling anxiously with the hat he never removed. "This doesn't change the fact that I don't know your age."_

_That made Pete laugh as he kicked his feet up on the table. "I'm not telling you."_

_"I know you're still keeping me a bit far away because you don't want either of us getting hurt, and you don't trust me fully, I get that, and I don't care about any of that, because I love you." He took another deep breath, giving off a shaky smile. "And I know we can make this work."_

_"Should I actually cut my hair?" Pete asked, and Patrick shrugged. The two of them were standing around in the cramped kitchen, too lazy today to make too much of an effort and tooo poor to go out to eat. So instead they were making macaroni and cheese, because who didn't like living off that?_

_"I mean like. I like your hair. If it was short I'd still like it." Patrick smiled, going back to rifling through the drawers for measuring cups. "You have really awesome hair anyways."_

 

_"Thanks, Patrick."_

_"You're welcome..." It was getting hard to see anything, but Pete's smile got a little sweeter._

_"I had a good time," he said, and it went totally dark._

"..Pete." Patrick covered his face with his hands as Bob rushed over worriedly, kneeling in the snow and afraid to touch him. "I remember everything... I remember _everything_ , Bob." _  
_

Bob sat Patrick up, rewound Patrick's bright red scarf around the battered boy's neck and smoothed Patrick's wild strawberry hair down before putting his hat back on and adjusting his glasses. He knelt there in front of Patrick for a moment, smiling, then leaned in, giving him a kiss. It didn't last long at all and when he pulled back he looked Patrick in the eye an said "That's the last time that's ever going to happen, okay?"

Patrick nodded numbly. 

"Go get him, tiger."


	12. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well. This is it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus Christ this is the first fanfiction I ever finished.  
> I'd like to thank my dog. He's a pal.

Patrick Stump ran into Gabriel Saporta's club totally unprepared. 

He'd been quite excited to get this over and done with in the fancy white elevator on the way down at least. Bob's words were still burning through his head and he was totally pumped on determination. He could do this. He could get Pete back and kick Gabe Saporta's ass and be home in time for dinner. Then he could brag about it to Bob later and everything would be okay again. Piece of cake! 

But as soon as Patrick stepped out of the elevator and into the big wide room? He wasn't so sure. The place was crazy busy, crawling with people of all shapes, sizes and colours dressed in their nicest and skimpiest outfits. The upbeat (albeit somewhat shitty) pop music was blaring through speakers bigger than Patrick himself, the clear, square tiled floors lighting up every so often in every colour you could imagine to the beat. Loud noises and hoots and hollers came from the arcade to Patrick's right, blasting loud game sounds, and booming theme music. Big white spotlights made their way over the throbbing mass of people over on the dancefloor. It was crazy hot in here, and Patrick regretted bringing his coat in the first place.  

And there were people dancing in tiny iron cages at the front, like, who even _did_ that?

Who else would enjoy that kind of thing? **[Andy Hurley. Not drunk.]** "PATRICK, HEY!"

He was dressed a lot nicer than Patrick was, and Patrick had to wonder briefly if he should have dressed up to kick Gabe Saporta's ass, but he banished the thought quickly and wandered towards Andy anyways. Andy waved frantically and embarrassingly until Patrick made it over, leaning in so he could actually hear him over the collective din of the place. "Wow, you're back! Just in time too. This place in entirely too loud."

"ENTIRELY TOO LOUD MY _ASS_ , THIS IS AMAZING." **[Spencer Smith. Drunk enough for the both of them.]** Patrick nodded his hello to Spencer, who started giggling and leaning heavily into Andy's side, and as cute as they seemed to be, Patrick didn't have time for this. 

"Andy. Have you seen Pete?" Patrick asked, scanning around just in case he didn't need an answer. Nope. Still no pretty emo boy, dammit.

"No," Spencer answered for him, and Andy nodded his agreement. "He's probably off having epic threesomes with Gabe and Brendon though."

"Noted," Patrick said, and he gave Andy his coat before stalking out onto the dance floor, because those two didn't seem like they would be moving anytime soon. He pushed past people, glad to be rid of his coat, ignoring every girl that made eyes at him as he walked by. He also watched Alex Gaskarth blatantly ignore him because Jack Barakat was also there, which he would've complained about if he wasn't so focused on the task at hand. Slowly but surely, Patrick made his way across the dancefloor, through the swarming, bobbing mass of people. He could do this, he _knew_ he could. 

But _probably_ not without alcohol.

Two drinks down and Patrick was already feeling kind of mellowed out and overly affectionate until he was on his third and took in his present company, enough to drive him to spit out his drink and ruin his shirt. 

"Wow. Okay." **[Jon Walker. Feeling the secondhand embarrassment here.]**

"Oh no..." **[Dallon Weekes. Yeah no, who knows what he's doing here.]**

"Well Patrick, you managed to outdo yourself. You're a mess." **[Ryan Ross. The original, damn it.]**  He had one elbow propped on the bar, drink at hand and an interesting sort of scowl on his face. Dallon looked pretty happy to see Patrick, but Jon seemed utterly indifferent towards him now that Ryan was about. "You look even more pathetic than you did when I left," Ryan said simply, sipping his drink daintily.

"And you look almost normal. How did you pull that off?" Ryan Ross may have not be perfectly dressed, but at least he didn't have alcohol all over his shirt, like Patrick seemed to at the moment, shit. This wasn't going as well as he'd hoped it would. "Have any of you seen Pete?" 

"You can't go looking for him like that!" Dallon exclaimed, and to the horror of everyone, promptly removed his shirt, holding it out for Patrick. 

"I don't think you're allowed to do that," Jon said, but Patrick took the shirt without any hesitation anyways and thanked him as Dallon shrugged. He _did_ have to look his best to kick Gabe Saporta's ass, after all.

"They don't care. I'm pretty," was all the explanation Dallon gave, which was pretty true, girls were walking over already. And then Dallon said it was hot in here anyways and went back to his drink before Patrick thanked him again and went on along his search. _Now_ he'd do it. _Now_ he'd find Pete, and nothing was going to stop him, he wouldn't let anything-

"Patrick, there is an owl on your shirt. Why is there an owl on your shirt." **[Joseph Trohman. Part-time-brother in training who's kind of stoned and kind of sick of all this drama.]**

"It's Dallon's. Have you seen Pete?" Patrick scanned the area around Joe, standing on his tip-toes and looking over Joe's shoulder, which was nearly impossible because of his hair. Joe just sighed and raised an eyebrow like he was tired of this behavior, dammit. 

"Isn't Pete off having epic threesomes with Gabe and Brendon?"

"Stop talking to Andy! that's not what's happening!" Patrick looked over Joe's shoulder again to see Frank, who was staring intently at what was probably Joe's tattoos. "Uh... Hi- JOE. Joe talk to Frank. Frank this is Joe. Be friends and tell me if you see Pete." Patrick shoved Joe to Frank and continued on his way. Okay _this_ time for sure. This time for sure he'd find Pete, and he could get this over with and they could all go home. Yes this time-

"PATRICK!" **[Gerard Way. Dressed like he's going to a funeral and loving it.]**

"Why does your shirt have an owl on it." **[Brian Schechter. Still kind of mad at Patrick.]**

They do look sort of cute together or whatever, holding hands. Brian looked kind of sheepish, but Gerard was bouncing on his feet with excitement. He nudged at Brian's shoulder and grinned until Brian was smiling too, looking bashfully at the floor. Patrick had to get out of here before this got worse and he got lonely again. "Doesn't matter. Have you guys seen-"

Suddenly it was dark. Completely dark, save for the little lights on cell phones that went up almost immediately, the flashing cameras. Even the floor lights had gone out. Patrick backed up uneasily, not really sure what was going on but suspecting it had something to do with the fact that Brendon was supposed to be singing tonight. He bumped into Gerard as they craned their necks back to look at the single spotlight on the solitary figure on the enormous flat-topped pyramid of the stage

_This is gospel for the fallen ones, locked away in permanent slumber, assembling their philosophies, in pieces of broken memories._

He looked utterly fantastic on the giant screen that lit up behind him, smiling sweetly at the audience, and Gerard made a strangled sound, gripping Brian's arm tighter because damn. He was dressed in a very important looking white suit and pants that were quite tight. And eyeliner too, that was great too.

Brendon looked up and the crowd went insane, but Patrick wasn't quite settled yet. Something was not right. Gerard was bouncing up and down behind him now, happily, but Patrick was forcused on Brendon, who seemed to have somehow picked him out in the crowd and was staring right at him. 

_The gnashing teeth and criminal tongues conspire against the odds, but they haven’t seen the best of us yet..._

Pause. Patrick realized it wasn't _him_ Brendon was looking at. 

_If you love me let me **go!**_

A punch sailed over Patrick's head, and he was about to turn around and make an angry noise at Gerard and Brian because he'd assumed they were over this already. That was when he realized it was not Gerard and Brian behind him. The perfect hair and sunglasses gave it away. The attacker straightened and the crowd around them parted, foring a circle around Patrick and his attacker.

_If you love me let me **go!**_

**[Gabriel Saporta. 31 years old. Final boss]** " _Hola, amigo,_ " he said and there wasn't a factor in his being that didn't sound smug. "Took you long enough to get here."

Patrick swung at him- entirely out of rage, he wasn't thinking about it.

_'Cause these words are knives that often leave scars..._

Gabe dodged easily, but he seemed more intent on taunting Patrick than actually fighting with him. He was even dressed smugly, in a bright purple suit and a black tie, with sunglasses on. It was not even bright enough in there to warrant black sunglasses, dammit.

Patrick was tired and wanted to get this over and done with, so this wasn't going to work out. "Where is he," he snarled, and Gabe started laughing.  

_The fear of falling apart..._

"Brendon? He's up there singing, _pendejo_ , are you not hearing him?" No, Patrick was, and it was pretty fucking fantastic and the crowd that wasn't focused on the fight they were currently having was absolutely loving it.  

_And truth be told I never was yours..._

"What? No, Pete. Where's Pete." Patrick narrowly missed a punch by nearly falling back into the crowd and skirting around the edge of the mass of people around them, muttering curse words under his breath. Gabe wasn't attacking though, he looked confused, if anything

_The fear, the fear of falling apart..._

"I thought he was with you?" Gabe slipped the sunglasses off his face to give Patrick a look of disbelief as he tucked them away in his pocket. "I figured you'd be smart enough to keep him around at least. You did all of that for him and he still left?"

"Shut up!" Patrick took a hit to the face, a second quick one deflected by the arms he quickly crossed over his torso, almost backed up against the crowd again. "It's complicated!"

_This is gospel for the vagabonds..._

"No, it's not. You're just pathetic." It happened in a flash. Gabe's next punch hit Patrick square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him, making his knees weak.

And then there was the white glowing lights that were entirely unnatural. Patrick knew, he knew what was happening and he had no idea why it was happening The crowd was utterly horrified, except maybe for anyone who knew Patrick and knew how often these things happened to them. And then the hilt of the golden sword appeared-

_Not-do-wells and insufferable bastards..._

 

**[Gabe has stolen the power of love! Okay that was kind of a dick move. Fuck him, right?]**

_Confessing their apostasies..._

"I was supposed to ask you to join us, but." Gabe kicked Patrick to the floor and raised his sword as Patrick cowered and focerd himself not to beg for his life. "I don't need anyone like _you_ on my side. I mean look at you. You'd probably slow us down, if anything." 

_Led away by imprefect impostors..._

Patrick didn't have a chance to get up, and had resigned to thinking that he didn't want to, because this was a noble way to die. Young and somewhat beautiful and somewhat tragic.

Gabe stabbed him, straight through the chest until the red-slick tip of the golden sword stuck out Patrick's back, spraying blood all over the colourful floors that lit up white almost immediately. On stage Brendon had stopped singing, and he looked shell-shocked. As shell-shocked as anyone else in the room.

Gabe pulled out his blade, wiping the tip of his sword against the back of Patrick's silly owl shirt as he slumped forward on the floor and gasped in his last breath. Then he rolled his shoulders, smiled sweetly and walked away, back through the crowd.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Patrick peeled his face off the floor, and even that hurt. Everything hurt. He didn't really feel like moving, but something was digging into his side, pressed up against his hip. So he'd roll over onto his back at the very least. Here he was again, alone in the big white room with nothing to see at all. What was the point of this? He'd literally just given up his life for a guy who had left him unceremoniously without so much as an explanation. The only thing he could think to say to that was "Pete Wentz is a dick."_

_Patrick's voice echoed unpleasantly through the barren space This was mostly because it was the only thing that could be heard, so he sighed miserably and rolled back over so he didn't have to see the white sky anymore, ignoring whatever was digging into his hip because whatever, he was going to hurt anyways. "Pete Wentz is such a dick oh my **god.** "_

_"Fuck you." The voice startled him into rolling back over and sitting up, because he was there as he'd been the very first time Patrick had ever had a dream about him, standing in rollerblades and all his glory. Shorts, even in the winter, bright yellow messenger bag by his hip. His hair had grown in a little more, but he didn't look drastically different like Patrick had thought he might. Which made sense, people didn't just go through this crazy metamorphosis when they left and came back._

_"P-Pete," Patrick managed, and the questioned party nodded and went over, sitting down. Patrick was still trying to process the situation, which was maybe the only reason he wasn't all over Pete right this second, or hugging him and sobbing._

_"How's it going, Patrick?" Just like that? Patrick made a face and pulled his hat down over his eyes because he was finally feeling that overwhelming sense of rejection, and what if Pete was here out of pity and not because he missed Patrick and-_

_"You left."_

_Pete laughed humourlessly, which made Patrick look up and over, and he had sort of a sad smile going on, picking at the bright red laces of his rollerblades absently, refusing to look at Patrick at all costs. "Yeah, sorry about that. I went... I don't know, spiritual journey or some shit. That sounds stupid doesn't it?"_

_Patrick shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck just to have something to do with his hands that wasn't molesting Pete when he seemed to be apologizing. "At least you weren't having epic threesomes with Brendon and Gabe."_

_"You need to stop listening to Andy then." He ran a hand through his short hair and looked down, trying to find something to say. "Look uh. I'm sorry, Patrick. I was fucked up and I didn't want to fuck you up too."_

_"I got fucked up anyways," Patrick said simply, succeeding at making his voice as emotionless as possible. He was quite proud of himself for that._

_"I'm back though- I'm back, Patrick. I made myself come back to say I'm sorry and that this is my fault but it was just... It was_ scary _. It was scary and I didn't know what I was doing and.... Hell, I don't know." Pete laughed again at how ridiculous and nonsensical he sounded, tapping his fingers against the ground anxiously. "I'm always the one who leaves, you know. Before I have to live with the fact that people don't want to be around me, so I don't have to watch them get tired of me. I know I'm hard to be around." He looked over at Patrick finally, smiling sheepishly. "I think I managed to fuck myself up more that way but-"_

_Patrick closed the gap between them all-too-quickly and kissed him silent. Pete froze before leaning into it, sighing, turning to face him properly before remembering what he was trying to say. And what he needed to say was really important to convey. Even then, Pete had to wait a moment before pulling back, he'd missed this too. It took an outstanding amount of willpower._

_"But I-I couldn't deal with you getting tired of me and leaving-" Apparently Patrick wasn't interested in talking or apologies at the moment, because kissing was happening again, harder this time, a little desperate. Pete was being pushed down against the ground, the floor flat against his back, Patrick was moving- Pete turned his head to the side, spluttering. "-JESUS PATRICK COULD YOU NOT."_

_"IF THIS IS A DREAM THEN I MAY AS WELL ENJOY IT. I'VE ALREADY FORGIVEN YOU. CAN WE MOVE ON?"_

_"It's not a dream you're dead," Pete said, and Patrick gave him a dull look. It was kind of hard to forget already, he didn't need reminding. Patrick just leaned down again and pressed his mouth against Pete's throat, enjoying the feeling of Pete's breath hitching as he closed his eyes,_

_"Well still," he mumbled, but the moment was lost because Pete was squirming now underneath him._

_"Something is hard, what is that," Pete mumbled, and Patrick's face heated up immediately._

_"...Th-that is totally not me." Patrick reluctantly disentangled himself from his long-lost boyfried and untucked his shirt- pulling the bright red ray gun he'd totally forgotten he'd brought with him from his waistband and holding it up for Pete to see. Pete smacked himself in the forehead, groaning._

_"Is that seriously Mikey's ray gun. You had a fucking_ ray gun _and you didn't use it?" Well, that had been kind of a stupid move. Patrick felt indignant, weighing it in his hand._

_"I forgot I had it! I'm sorry but-"_

 

 

-Patrick gasped, his back arching off the blood-sticky dancefloor, scaring about half the people in the room. It was overwhelming for a moment, dizzying, there was just too much going on at once and he couldn't process all of it. Brendon's voice was blasting through the club, ringing loud in Patrick's ears. The flashing of the lights around him were too bright and too frequent and it was terrible.

Pete scrambled to help Patrick to his feet before he could even really understand what was going on, all he knew was that he was awake and alive somehow. And that Pete had gloves on for some reason, he hadn't been wearing leather gloves in Patrick's head. Joe called Patrick's mother back to inform her that he wasn't actually dead and Andy started crying, but in a more manly way than anything. Ryan Ross probably made a snarky remark about it. 

"HOW THE FUCK," Patrick wanted to know, but he had the sense to dislodge the ray gun from- since when did he have a gun holster on his leg. He had not been wearing that earlier. Patrick pulled the purple bandanna down from over his mough and nose, and gosh, he had to wonder where the leather jacket he had on had come from, where the boots and the girl jeans had materialized from. What the fuck was this. He felt so totally punk rock, it was ridiculous. "WHAT THE _FUCK_."

" **KILLJOYS NEVER DIE,** " Gerard screamed from the crowd, followed by an enthusiastic **WOO** from Joe. Anyone else who knew Patrick was pretty happy now, and there was much cheering, mostly because of how awesome Pete looked in his improved outfit. But more importantly, Gabe had clued in and was making his way through the crowd towards Pete.

" _You_ ," Gabe snarled as he came up to the circle around Pete and Patrick, and Pete grinned.

" _Me,_ " Pete said, staring Gabe down as Andy and Joe rushed over to attend to Patrick, who looked seriously cool except for the blood stained owl shirt he had on under his leather jacket. Damn that owl shirt. Though understandably, Patrick was more concerned with the fact that he didn't know what a _Killjoy_ was and that maybe he'd joined Mikey and Gerard's vigilante cult without realizing it and he didn't want to spend the rest of his life sacrificing chickens to stay alive. But Joe was shaking his arm and keeping him in reality, reminding him that there were more important things to be concerned with at the moment.

"Guys, Pete is real right? You see him too?" Patrick hissed at Joe, who groaned at Patrick's one track mind once more. 

"Yes, Pete is real and so are you, so let's get you home before you stop existing again," Andy said, hoisting Patrick to his feet only to be brushed off.

Something weird was happening, Pete quavering under Gabe's gaze alone. Patrick went over to help him-

But the room went dark. Not just dark, but totally pitch black. This was it, Patrick had that feeling. That awful feeling that came with the clouds- with the void of darkness. The feeling he got before he got over Brendon and he called to be cruel, the feeling he got when Hayley had been over at Pete's house and Pete had essentially told him to get lost. The feeling he got when Pete went away, possibly for good.

Someone shoved Patrick roughly out of the way and he heard a _whoosh_ that was way too close for comfort. There was a light he could see, but it was somewhere past all the negativity. It was Pete's voice somewhere off far in the distance, almost swallowed up by the void.  

Something stung Patrick's middle, a sharp slice and searing pain that began leaking blood almost immediately. He pressed his hand against the wound, hissing. Uh, _ow?_

_Why are you doing this, even? What if Pete just leaves again. You died for him, and for what?_

Another sharp pain across Patrick's chest, snagging in his leather jacket before tearing through. He shrugged it off, somewhat ready to fight the invisible force. Andy's voice was in there somewhere, Joe's voice, he could do this right? They believed in him....

_The world keeps spinning without you. Their lives will go on and you'll be nothing but a fleeting memory. You'll fade from their hearts and their minds like William faded from yours._

"No, they love me, I know they do." Patrick clutched his middle. "And I'm not going to run anymore. I'm going to fight."

He caught the next assault trying to look like a badass as the darkness subsided, catching Gabe's blade in one hand. It hurt like a motherfucker and it bled like crazy, but it seemed to have the desired effect because everyone had gone hushed, even Brendon up there on his big stage.

Pete went up behind and kicked Gabe down to his knees, coming up beside Patrick once more. "You have no right to want me back, you're the one who shoved me away," he growled, and Gabe looked confused. "You didn't realize you wanted me until after you'd done your damage, so forget about it."

"Shut. The fuck up." Gabe was on his feet in a flash and the next thing Patrick knew he was on the floor gasping for breath and the tip of the golden sword was sticking out of Pete's back.

Gabe flicked his hair out of his face and pulled the sword out, breathing hard as Pete slumped to the floor. The crowd was horrified, the silence overwhelming as Gabe looked around, eyes wide and crazy. "He was using the Void to his advantage, wasn't he?"

"WHAT THE FUCK _IS_ THE VOID," Andy called out, because Bob would want to know later and who knew if Pete was actually dead. Patrick was crawling over to him to make sure he was still breathing. 

"The Void is you," Gabe said simply, and of course, that made no sense. "The Void is the part of you you want to avoid, all the truths about yourself that you want to forget. The Void sucks you into that dark place you never want to be." He tapped the tip of his sword against the bloody dancefloor. "Once you're in, you can never get out. It's this thing, it gnaws at you, it's always there somehow. And Petey here? Used it to travel."

Pete was still breathing, thank god. Patrick sighed with relief, cradling Pete in his lap and getting even more blood on his owl shirt. Dallon wasn't going to want this back by the end of this.

Gabe didn't seem too concerned with trying to finish Pete off at the moment, too wrapped up in his brilliant explanations like villains tended to get at the endgame. "Remember how he left you, Pattycakes? He did the same to me. Came home one day, and oh, look. _Petey cut his hair._ I was confused. I was confused, and then I was hurt, and then I was mad. And that's how we got here, isn't it? That's what you've been fighting for all along, a self-hating slut who's got trouble sticking around." 

Patrick shook Pete lightly- yes, he was still alive, he was breathing, but blood was leaking from his mouth and that was a bit alarming. 

Subspace. The Void led to Subspace. Pete's mind was in Subspace.  

So to Subspace Patrick would go. He took out the ray gun in one hand and flicked open Pete's messenger bag with the other, crawling inside. Then he was freefalling, but with purpose this time, through the blackness, imagining where he wanted to end up. Somewhere he never figured he'd want to go again, back to the place with the checkered tile floor and golden snake spires.

Back to where Gabe Saporta sat on his golden throne. Pillars twined with golden snakes shot up past what you could see, and sure enough, Pete was sitting like a puppy dog by Gabe's feet with nothing but too-tight jeans on and ropes tying his hands together. He looked desperately happy, staring up at Gabe like he was the sun in the sky and everything that was wonderful in the world. He didn't so much as look at Patrick when Gabe got up and removed his sunglasses, raising his sword. 

"You're an idiot if you think you can beat me here." He had the rope binding Pete's wrists together in his free hand and tugged harshly on it. Pete closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against his wrists, sighing dreamily, and it was making Patrick feel sick. "He gives me too much power in here."

"Let him go," Patrick snarled, raising his gun once more. He was not overly fond of violence, but now? Now he just felt murderous, and somebody was going to get hurt. Gabe pulled the rope up so Pete's arms were over his head. Pete started giggling at that, his head lolling to the side happily. Patrick started closing the distance between them as the Void swirled around Gabe in smoky black tendrils, not as if it was consuming him, but as if he were commanding it.

_Look how happy Pete is, has he ever looked that happy with you? Why not just let him be, let him run off and continue the life he wants?_

He was a terrible shot, but Patrick kept firing, ignoring any invasive thought that popped into his mind. He kept shooting  and shooting until a blast grazed Gabe's knuckles and he dropped the rope, hissing. Patrick immediately ran to collect Pete, who looked a bit upset but otherwise as stupid as he'd seemed earlier. "Pete please-"

The sting of the sword again, and Patrick hit the floor hard, staring into Subspace- into Pete's blank eyes. It hurt like a bitch and Patrick couldn't feel the lower half of his body, shit. Pete blinked his big brown eyes, then shook his head out, sitting up, and Patrick knew they were going to be okay. 

He pulled the ropes apart and stood up, pulling the leather jacket that had been bestowed upon him out of thin air and putting it on as Gabe watched. He looked positively livid, and when he spoke it was apparent that he meant business. Gabe stepped back, and for the first time this night, he seemed a bit concerned for his wellbeing. "Oh. Hey Pete."

"Listen here, Saporta. I was stuck on you. That's a fact." Another Pete stepped out of the void, the one Patrick had met the very first time in his dream, with his messenger bag and rollerblades. The Pete he'd been not too long ago, with the long hair to match. Another followed suit, the way Patrick had seen him at the party, when he'd nearly blown it for himself. "And even if you'll always have a piece of me tucked away in Subspace..." Pete with red streaks in his hair, Pete in his suit, Pete the way he'd been the day they saw Brendon off, drenched from the rain. They all looked as livid as the one in front of them.

"The rest of me is done with you." Pete smiled a little, tilting his head to the side and cracking his knuckles. "Now get out of my head, motherfucker."

He socked Gabe. Socked him hard, sent him stumbling back. The golden sword clattered to the floor-

**[Pete earned the power of love! The power of love healed his grievous injuries! Hooray!]**

Out of Subspace now, and Patrick had to admit that this whole thing was getting a bit tiring and dragging on too long. Gabe was on the stage now, beside a very disgruntled Brendon, and Pete was helping Patrick to his feet. When Gabe tried to pull the mic stand from Brendon's grip, Brendon beat him over the head with it until he looked dizzy. 

"Excuse me that is _my_ fucking mic stand, not yours. I like this mic stand. There is an extra sword backstage, go nuts."

Pete and Patrick made their way up to the stage as Gabe went and got that. at this point he was edging on desperation, is breathing shallow and ragged and quick, eyes wide and crazy. His voice was wavering in volume too. "It'll never work. You'll never work out, do you hear me? You're doomed."

Pete went at it with the sword as Patrick fired shots everywhere. Deflect, deflect- one shot hit Gabe in the calf and he nearly stumbled off the stage. He grabbed hold of Brendon's arm before he could, nearly taking him down in the process, and Brendon shoved him back towards Pete and Patrick, threatening to sock him if he came close again. He'd had enough of this bullshit and just wanted to play his show, dammit. 

Patrick lined up his sight- and shot Gabe in the hand, the extra sword clanging against the stage. Finally, he looked like he was desperate, breathing hard and trembling lightly. Patrick handed Pete the ray gun and traded off for the sword, resting the tip against the front of Gabe's fancy suit.

"You messed with my head. You messed with Pete's head. You fucked everything up, and now I'm going to fix it." 

He plunged the sword in, and the effect was instant. Gabriel Saporta burst into a pretty hailstorm of silver coins that rained down painfully on the audience. They were cheering through moans of pain and complaints though, and all of Patrick's friends were smiling, nudging each other because everything was going to be okay again. Andy was texting Bob, who was irritated at not being able to have seen Patrick get his ass kicked royally. Hopefully Joe had recorded the epic battle for him. 

Pete flung himself at Patrick, throwing his arms around laughing and giving him a big long kiss, gripping the front of his silly leather jacket tight, and everything seemed okay again. When he let go, Brendon came over and started apologizing, but cut himself short and gave Patrick a big hug, looking sheepish the entire time. Patrick returned the hug happily.  

**[Closure]**

"I'm sorry if we just exploded your boyfriend," Patrick said, patting Brendon's head somewhat awkwardly as he let go and stepped back, going back over to his mic and picking it up.

"Gabe wasn't- I mean. It's not like we were having epic threesomes with Pete, right? Get off my stage, Patrick Stump." And he started singing again as Patrick and Pete linked their hands together and started down the stage, sweet and pure and trouble free, just like everything was supposed to be.

_If all our life is but a dream, fantastic posing greed, then we should feed our jewelry to the sea..._

_For diamonds do appear to be, just like broken glass to me._

They made their way to where all of Patrick's friends were sitting by the entrance, where Patrick changed into his normal coat. He had no need for a leather one, really. Spencer was somehow more drunk than he'd been when Patrick had seen him last, and when he and Pete approached their friends hand in hand, Spencer was sprawled over Andy's lap, trying to purr like a cat as Andy carded his hands through Spencer's hair. "Hey, good job you two," Andy said with a smile.

_And then she says she can't believe, that genius only comes along in storms of fabled foreign tongues..._

 "Yeah, even though you died," Joe added from Andy's right.

_Tripping eyes and flooded lungs..._

"Deduct points for dying," Gerard agreed, elbowing Brian in the side until he muttered something positive under his breath.

_The northern downpour sends its love..._

"Are y'all ready to go home because I need to go home," Alex Gaskarth said, grabbing Jack's hand, and Gerard proposed a big group hug before anyone did anything.

_Hey moon, please forget to fall down..._

Patrick felt normal again, and it made him smile.

_Hey moon, don't you go down._

 

 

 

Pete slumped against Patrick in the elevator, nuzzling his face under Patrick's chin and siging happily. It was finally over, and they were both exhausted and ready to go home. But even now, Patrick wasn't fully at peace. He pulled Pete close and held him there, closing his eyes.   

"Things won't be the same, will they?" He said, and Pete shook his head.  

"They were never going to be the same, Patrick. Never. We've stopped running, Patrick, we're staying put. I'm staying put."

Momentary silence.

"We're going to make this work," Patrick mumbled, and that made Pete smile and squeeze him harder. 

"I'm sorry," he said, even though he apologized earlier and Patrick was already over it. 

"Hey, everyone makes mistakes. We're grown ups now, we can face it."

"I don't know if I can be a grown up," Pete mumbled.

"It just takes practice," was all Patrick said.  

 

 

The next few days, Patrick and Pete got their act together, and life passed by in a whirlwind.

Patrick rose quickly through the ranks in his job, working closely with Alex Gaskarth to further his shitty career. Soon he was a vegan chef extraordinaire, and Andy was quite proud of him. Alex wasn't impressed in the slightest, and became day manager of the place not too long after.

Pete and Patrick renamed Gabriel the dog, because Gabriel was a bad name for a dog. Bob moved back from the middle of fucking nowhere, and he and Patrick made their own shitty band named Boner Party that not even Gerard or Frank could stomach. But Jack liked the name, so there was that at least.

Frank and Joe became a thing, a sort of unholy union that made Patrick sick to his stomach. Andy also disapproved. Gerard went off to Art school, Mikey went off to fight crime in the desert with Ray, and Brendon made it big time with his new drummer and best friend, Spencer.

Even so, a break was needed.

Patrick climbed the wooden steps to the top of the hill, anxiety rolling in his stomach. The sun was sinking below the horizon, bathing the top of the hill in orange-pink light and making Pete look kind of mysterious but incredibly pretty as he stood by the bright white door. He looked up when he saw Patrick, and he smiled, and that made Patrick smile too.

Pete pulled down his hood and Patrick waited a moment before pulling off his hat, his hair ruffling in the breeze as he set it down on the hill and walked towards Pete, who stuck his hands in his pockets anxiously.

"So?" He asked, and Patrick nodded, fiddling with a strand of strawberry hair.

"So. We try again," he said, and Pete smiled, holding out a hand.

Patrick met Pete's gaze as he stepped up to the door, twining their fingers together.

And they stepped through, falling through to oblivion to start over again.

 


End file.
